


Dura et Triumpha

by h_hogsmeade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Everyone's happy, F/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:49:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_hogsmeade/pseuds/h_hogsmeade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a student starting her fifth year at Hogwarts, Bridget's already got plenty to worry about. But what with the looming threat of a rising Dark wizard, an intersocial conflict building up in the school hallways, and a few family issues – least of which include a convicted criminal for a brother – it makes for a bit of a bother. All this is without her inconvenient (but not entirely unwanted) feelings for Sirius Black. And to think she'd expected her O.W.L.s to be the year's biggest problem. Honestly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Erm right, so this is my first published fic ever! I hope it'll be enjoyable to read :) Any criticism or just brief comments are more than welcome and are a nice source of encouragement!  
> Big thank you to my sis, im_an_idjit, and Audrey, stelesandwands, for helping through the struggles of editing this thing and finally posting it - both of them are on here, so you can go check out their fics too (I highly recommend them)!

Bridget Durant first met Sirius Black at a party. In the years to come, she would realise how fitting that was, seeing as there was nothing in the world that young Mr Black liked more than a party. Except for Quidditch. And girls.

Bridget had arrived at the gathering with her mother holding her hand at sharply two o'clock. They Apparated in front of the manor of Alphard Black, an esteemed pure-blood from the long line of Blacks (as her father had said), where they were greeted by house-elves and then shown to the garden where the luncheon was.

The lawn behind the house was enormous, stretching as far as the eye could see – or maybe it only seemed that way to the small four-year-old. The several trees planted on the sides had been decorated with pale-yellow lights, floating up and down gently between the leaves. In the middle were tables with silk tablecloths draped over them, around which guests milled, exchanging meaningless small talk.

Bridget followed her mother and father, staring up at all the strangers that came to greet them. When introduced, she would shyly slip closer to her mother's side and offer a small, “How do you do?” as she had been taught. She was frightened by all the ladies with dark make up and men with sinister moustaches, but it was worth it when she would see the proud smile on her mother's face.

A tall, imposing woman appeared before them and greeted her mother with a firm kiss on the cheek. It had been Walburga Black, sister of the host. With her were two boys about Bridget's age; one Mrs Black held in her arms, and the other stood next to her, arms crossed and face wearing a frown.

“Darling, this is Regulus,” Mrs Durant said to her daughter as she gestured to the boy carried by her friend. “And this is Sirius.” She gestured to the one with the scowl. “He's just your age. How about you two go off and play, hm?” So the adults left them and went to mingle with the rest of the guests.

The pair of toddlers were quiet for a few brief moments, each getting a measure of the other, while the lively party went on around them.

Then all of a sudden, Sirius opened his mouth and said, “That's an ugly dress.”

Bridget immediately retaliated with, “That's a stupid haircut.”

And that was it.

With a huff, they both spun on their heels and left in opposite directions; she to find her mother, and he to cause some trouble.


	2. One

Fifteen-year-old Bridget lay uncovered in bed, drowning in the unbearable heat. There had been no rain, no wind, no _nothing_ for the past two weeks and the young witch contemplated moving to Iceland.

She couldn't sleep.

There was no air! What was wrong with the weather? This was England, for Merlin's sake; home of pouring rain and cloudy skies! _Where_ was the cold?

She wondered what she could do. If she had been home, maybe she'd get some iced tea and read a book. But she was staying with her best friend Lily for the summer, and Mrs Evans deemed iced tea unhealthy, so there was none of it in the house. As to the book, Lily had great taste in literature. She could easily borrow one of her Wodehouse or Agatha Christie novels. But they were all across the hall in Lily's room – whereas Bridget was sleeping in Lily's sister's room.

The older Evans girl, Petunia, had moved away a few months ago and was now living with her boyfriend. She took most of her stuff with her, so the only things left in her old room were the bed, wardrobe and desk. Not that it mattered. Petunia was the complete opposite of Lily – she probably read horrible books.

Desperately needing to get up and move, Bridget puffed her cheeks with an irritated huff and walked over to the open window in hopes of finding breathable air. But no such luck – all she could do was stare out into the night sky, fantasising of the smallest gust of wind. Merely standing around proved to do her no good as the heat caught up with her, so she began pacing the room to try and cool off. She marched from the window and back, getting the air to circulate around her and – tiny smidge of success! It worked, if only a little.

A creak was heard and next the door opened very slowly.

“Oh, thank Merlin, you're awake!” Bridget cried as Lily's red head popped round the door.

“My room's a bloody sauna! Came to see how you were,” Lily explained as she shut the door. Then she grinned widely. “I have ice cream downstairs.”

“You're a life-saver!” Bridget sighed and pulled Lily out the door.

Three minutes and a stubbed toe later, they were sitting at the kitchen table, each with a spoon and chocolate ice cream.

“I've never loved you more,” Bridget mumbled with a full mouth.

Lily ate her own spoonful and nodded smugly. “How's your toe by the way?”

“Fine. It's just very difficult to discern coffee tables in the dark.”

They stifled their laughter as another figure stumbled into the kitchen.

“Budge over, girls, I'm dying of heat too.” Mr Evans noted and took out another bowl.

 

* * *

 

They survived the night, and morning found them all much cooler and happier. Bridget sat in Lily's room, having woken up about fifteen minutes prior. She was listing through the _Daily Prophet_ while she waited for her friend to come out of the bathroom.

 

**Two Found Dead in Liverpool**

 

The angry, bolded heading glared back at her. Two Muggles dead, presumably at the hands of Lord Voldemort, the illusive murderer who had been at large the past four years, and although a few of his followers had been captured over time, he himself always seemed to be one step ahead of the authorities.

Lily reappeared from her bathroom and Bridget put the paper away, not wanting to ruin the beginning of her friend's day. Instead she picked up a letter that had arrived late last night, and read through it again.

“Good morning,” Bridget greeted her cheerily.

“'Morning,” Lily mumbled, still rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “What've you got there?”

Bridget waved the letter in the air with a flourish. “Reply from Marlene.”

“Marlene? What does she say?” Lily yawned as she stretched.

“She's still in France. Though she says she'll be back before the end of next week,” Bridget replied, scanning through the letter for news. “Mary's still held captive in Dover, as Marlene puts it. Her mother refuses to allow any communication with the outside world.”

Lily laughed. “Anything else?”

“No, just that Marvin from last year is still writing to her.”

“The Ravenclaw?” Lily recalled. “The one serenading her in the middle of the hall and sending her those awful love letters?”

“Yeah,” Bridget confirmed with a grin. “He's found her address and many a poem has been sent.”

“Does she say how bad they are?”

“He's compared her tongue to the inside of an oyster.”

“You're joking!”

“No, I'm not. She says the line goes, and I quote, 'Your tongue is like the sweet inside of an oyster.'”

“ _Eugh!_ ”

“But that's not all!” Bridget put up a finger as she found the rest of the poem. “He says, 'Your skin is like soft butter –” (“Charming.”) “– and your voice sounds like a heavenly harp.'”

“ _Heavenly harp_?”

“Yeah, I think that one's not as bad.”

“Change of topic!” Lily laughed as she shut her ears.

“C'mon, Lil,” Bridget teased, getting up from the desk. “He's got some interesting comparisons! As a fan of poetry, wouldn't you like to collaborate with him?”

“Merlin, no!” Lily groaned, but she couldn't help laughing. “I don't want him writing _me_ anything! Let's just go have breakfast.”

And with that, the two girls headed out of the room and down the stairs. Mr and Mrs Evans were both already in the kitchen; Mrs Evans flipping pancakes and Mr Evans listing through a Muggle newspaper.

“Morning, girls,” Mrs Evans called, waving her spatula.

“Morning!” the two witches chirped happily.

“Sleep well?”

“As well as one can while sleeping in an oven,” Lily replied as she placed a pancake on her plate.

Mr Evans held up his mug of coffee in agreement. “Hear, hear.”

“Well, Lily,” Mrs Evans began, taking her apron off. “You'll be glad to hear Petunia's coming for a visit.”

“Really?” Lily's face brightened up.

“With Vernon,” Mr Evans added between coughs.

Lily's eyes immediately lost their happiness. “ _Again_?” she groaned.

“Now, dear,” Mrs Evans chided. “Not in front of your friend,” she whispered with a nudge of her head in Bridget's direction.

“Ah, I forgot you haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting young Dursley,” Mr Evans said, listing through the paper.

From Mr Evans' tone and from what Lily had told her before, Bridget knew there wasn't much pleasure to be had when meeting Vernon Dursley. From what she'd been told, he had ignored Lily the last time he'd visited, only speaking two or three words to her. Lily explained it was probably because Petunia had told him she was a 'freak', apparently a favourite word of hers for describing wizarding folk.

Needless to say, Bridget wasn't yearning to ever meeting either of them.

“Do we have to stay and see them, then?” Lily pleaded.

“Of course, Lily,” Mrs Evans said sternly. “She's your sister after all.”

“But Vernon's horrible,” Lily whispered to her dad.

Mr Evans nodded. “I know, darling –”

“Henry!” Mrs Evans cried.

“– but that's who your sister's fallen in love with – though, for the life of me, I can't imagine why –”

“Now, darling, really!”

“– so we all must put up with him,” Mr Evans finished. “Except for you, Bridget. You're free to run once the doorbell rings.”

“He's really not so bad,” Mrs Evans reasoned. “Don't listen to them, Bridget. He's really quite well-mannered.”

“He's a kiss-up and a pretty lousy one at that,” Mr Evans said as he chewed his breakfast. “Darling, you have to agree with that.”

Mrs Evans gave a defeated sigh. “I suppose he's a bit over-the-top. And if I'm being perfectly honest, I'd rather Petunia found another boy. But she's thinking of marrying him, so we might as well –”

“Tuney's thinking of _what_?!” Lily cried, shooting bits of pancake everywhere. (“Now was that necessary?” Mr Evans wanted to know, flicking a piece off his paper.)

“Marrying him,” Mrs Evans repeated. “Hasn't she told you?”

“She doesn't tell me anything!” Lily said, still half-choking.

“I'm sure she wanted to tell you in person once you were back from school,” Mrs Evans insisted.

“I've been back all summer!” Lily reminded her. “She's barely said a word to me the whole time!”

“Calm down.” Mr Evans patted his daughter on the back. “He hasn't actually proposed, otherwise it'd be _me_ having a fit.”

“We'll have this discussion another time,” Mrs Evans cut in. “Really, Lily. You're being rude.” She gestured to Bridget again.

Bridget made a dismissive gesture. “Ignore me, I'm just a part of the furniture,” she said as she took another bite.

“No, darling, you're our guest,” Mrs Evans said. “Now, Petunia's coming at eleven, so you are free until them.”

After they finished breakfast, Lily and Bridget retreated up to the former's room to get dressed. Bridget sat in Lily's desk chair, twirling, while she listened to Lily rant.

“I mean, really? _Marry_ Vernon?” she demanded, aggressively pressing a brush against her eyelid as she applied blue eye shadow.

“Careful, you'll poke your eye out,” Bridget warned, attempting to spin without using her legs.

“At least then I won't have to look at Vernon once he becomes my brother-in-law.”

Bridget laughed and tried to reason with her. “It's not like _you_ have to marry him. What's the problem?”

“The problem is that he'll just pull Tuney and me even further apart!” she explained, applying blush (being no gentler than she was before).

“But if she loves him,” Bridget said, “don't you want her to be happy?”

“Of course I do!” Lily replied instantly. “But with Vernon? _Vernon_?”

“Now I'm really nervous about see this bloke, if you lot keep describing him as this horrible.”

“He is,” Lily assured her. “The most narrow-minded Muggle ever to exist.”

“Look, this isn't the worst thing that could happen to your sibling,” Bridget told her with a sad sort of smile.

It took Lily a moment. “Merlin, I'm sorry! I'm being pathetic –”

“No, no!” Bridget quickly cut in. “I didn't mean to make you feel guilty! I wanted to make you feel _better_!”

Lily gave a small smile back. “I know, thanks.”

“Anyway, Petunia's happy,” Bridget said in attempt to return to the original subject. “Isn't that the most important thing?”

Lily hid her face in her hands. "Am I really that shallow?" she wanted to know. "Wanting to deny my sister's happiness?"

"'Course you're not shallow!" Bridget swatted her arm. "You just want to keep your relationship with your sister! That's completely normal! And Petunia should feel honoured. Honestly, she doesn't deserve you, Lily."

"Flattery won't do any good to my ego," Lily joked, hugging the other girl. "I don't deserve _you_."

Bridget shrugged. "There are few that do."

"I see flattery's no good for you either!" Lily said as they both burst into laughter.

Their mirth was interrupted by the doorbell and Mrs Evans yelling, _"Lily!"_

"Coming!" Lily called back and gestured for Bridget to follow her. "Let's go show you Mr _Vermin_ Dursley."

"Lily!" Bridget scolded, but laughed all the same.

They came to the living room just as Mrs Evans opened the door and hugged her daughter. "Petunia! I'm so glad you came."

"Hello, Mother," Petunia said. "Sorry we're late, but Vernon had an important meeting in the morning."

"No problem, dear," Mrs Evans cooed, stepping aside to let her in. "Oh, and Vernon! How are you?"

Bridget still couldn't see him, but she heard Vernon reply, "Fine, thank you, madam."

When Mr Evans said his brief hellos too and gave Petunia a kiss on the cheek, the young couple finally entered the living room where Lily and Bridget waited.

Purple-faced and with barely any neck, Vernon Dursley looked more like a walrus than a human being, and his black, bushy moustache didn't make matters better. Bridget couldn't fathom why Petunia would fall for a man like him. But then again, it had been said that love was blind.

Petunia Evans was, on the other hand, incredibly thin. Her hair was pulled back into a perfect bun, accenting her unusually long neck. She gave Lily a small glare, which made Bridget's heart pang with sympathy for her friend.

"Hi, Tuney!" Lily hugged her sister, ignoring the frown sent her way. "Vernon," she added with a big (albeit forced) smile.

"Lily," both Vernon and Petunia said in response.

"This is my friend Bridget," Lily introduced the brunette next to her.

"From school?" Petunia inquired, shaking Bridget's hand, but giving her a minuscule squint.

"Yes."

Petunia's tight smile widened, but her eyes clearly said, _"Oh."_

"Vernon, Bridget." Lily gestured from one to the other.

"Pleasure," was all he said to her.

"You too," Bridget replied, her fingers engulfed by his mitt-sized hand in a stiff handshake.

"Shall we sit?" Mr Evans offered and they made their way to the sitting room.

While Vernon chatted to Mr Evans about work (he was apparently in the business of manufacturing drills), and Petunia gushed to her mother about the diamond necklace her boyfriend had gotten her, Lily and Bridget sat by the side and indulged themselves in their own conversation.

"Who d'you reckon will win the League Cup?" Bridget asked with a grin. "Wimbourne Wasps or Puddlemere United?"

"I really don't care," Lily sighed.

"For the sake of argument!"

"Fine." Lily thought for a moment. "Puddlemere United."

"No!" Bridget hissed in feigned disgust. "The Wasps are going to win this year. They have to!"

"Why do they _have_ to?" Lily laughed.

"Because I've been waiting for two years for them to make it to the finals and they're not going to fail me now!"

"Change of subject to something we both like?"

"Agreed."

"So, Bridget." Petunia interrupted the start of any new topic. "Mother tells me you're staying here for the summer."

At the sound of her name, Bridget spun around so fast she momentarily got worried she had sprained her neck. "Uh, yeah," she replied, surprised Petunia was addressing her at all. "Your room's got a lovely view," she added.

"Yes, it's beautiful in the early morning," Petunia agreed with a wistful sigh. "So where are your parents, then?"

"The country. We've a house there."

More like a manor, but Bridget wasn't out to impress anyone.

"And what do they do, might I ask?" Vernon, of all people, wanted to know.

"Well, my mum's sort of a housewife. And my dad works for the Ministry." And those weren't even lies. Bridget's mother, like every other pure-blood witch, was raised to take care of the children and the house. Whereas her father worked for the Ministry of Magic as the Head of the International Magical Office of Law.

"Oh, the Ministry! I see." Vernon's attention was raised. "Tell me, would he be interested in any investments?"

Before Bridget could reply that no, her father would _not_ like any drills, thank you very much, Lily changed the subject to Vernon's parents – something he was more than happy to talk about. As the conversation turned to his sister however, a little mishap occurred.

Only half-listening, Bridget turned to look out the window at the clear blue sky. There was so much more to be doing outside than to be stuck on a couch hearing about Marge Dursley and her love of bulldogs. Feeling like all hope and colour had drained out of life, Bridget idly watched the clouds drift by, when she spotted a distant speck slowly getting closer and closer. She subtly squinted into the distance and recognised the soaring form of her owl, Archibald – and just like that, the sun began shining and life held meaning again. Visibly more cheerful, she guessed he was coming back from delivering her latest letter to Marlene. She briefly wondered what the other witch had to say when she noticed that the owl wasn't turning to fly up into Petunia's room, but was instead heading straight towards the living room. Before she could react, the tawny owl sailed in through the open window, streaked past the party on the couches and, with a crash, landed in the kitchen.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" Vernon bellowed, spitting out feathers. "Was it a bird?"

Petunia's eyes were as round as saucers. She looked from Lily to her mother, panic clearly setting in.

"Oh, just a ruddy owl!" Lily said wearily. "Must've gotten confused and flew in here by mistake. After all, they _are_ nocturnal. Get back to your tea, I'll handle it. Bridget?" she added as she started towards the kitchen.

Bridget excused herself and hurried after her. In the kitchen, they bent over the sink where the owl sat slumped in a pot, apparently unconscious.

"Archie!" Bridget lightly prodded his soft, feathery belly.

"I thought he was smart," Lily said, loosening the note – signed in Marlene's elegant cursive hand, calligraphy, really – from his leg.

"'Course he is," Bridget retorted, still nudging her lump of a bird. "He just gets sleepy when he doesn't eat for long. And France isn't exactly right round the corner, is it?"

The owl suddenly opened his large amber eyes and gave a low hoot.

"Owl snacks are in the cupboard to your left," Lily said.

"We should get him back to his cage," Bridget noted, digging through the cupboard.

"Well we can't go through the living room. We'll have to do it from the outside. Is he well enough to fly through the window?"

Bridget extended a hand with the snacks to her pet. "Probably. You don't think your neighbours might spot us?"

"We'll be quick about it," Lily replied.

They sneaked out the back door of the kitchen and stood under the window of Petunia's room. Archibald hopped onto Bridget's arm and, with a push, he flew up. But without the usual strength of his wings, he wasn't able to get high enough, and so instead of a smooth entrance, he hit the ledge of the window with a tragic _thwack_. Bridget and Lily gasped, but the owl managed to clamber into the room, feathers rustling wildly and talons frantically scratching the wooden surface. Once he was out of sight, he gave a weary hoot that the girls took as attestation of his safety. They then decided to waste some more time away from the guests and opened up Marlene's letter.

 

_Joy of joys! I bring news!_

 

_A date of return has finally been set for Mary Macdonald! She plans to be back in London on the 19th of August. Three more days until we have our lost friend returned to us! She does, however, beg us to send help if she's not back by then. You never know with her mother._

 

_I myself am coming back this Monday. Hogwarts sent you your supply list already, haven't they? Mine came a little later than usual – I suspect their owl got lost trying to find me while we journeyed through the land of the French. Anyway, when Mary gets back, we can owl Alice, get the group back together and do some shopping for our books. (Maybe we can stop by some dress shops as well?)_

 

_Speaking of Alice, has she spoken to either of you since the end of school? She sent me one letter three weeks into the holidays, but that's about it. Summer at the Longbottom beach house must be going better than she expected!_

 

_In other news, I still haven't shook Marvin off. At least this time, along with a nauseatingly long poem, he sent chocolate, something useful. Too bad for him I've got both looks and brains. Upon closer inspection, the chocolates seemed to smell a little too much like freshly cut grass and roses, so I split two or three in half and what do you know? Out came shiny liquid, complete with the spiralling steam! Yes, my dear friends. I, Marlene McKinnon, almost drank Love Potion._

 

_It's safe to say Marvin Plaskitt won't be gaining my affections any time soon, and a nice hex to the head will be a sure way of convincing him._

 

_So this is me saying, "SEE YOU SOON!" and "Don't accept chocolates from admirers!"_

_Lots and lots of love,_

_Marlene_

 

Stifling their laughter after finishing Marlene's letter, the two of them returned to the living room to find Vernon and Petunia getting ready to leave.

"It's been really nice, Mummy," Petunia was saying, "but we must be off. We've got an early lunch with some friends and I have to get ready."

"Of course, darling," Mrs Evans replied. "Oh, and here's your sister!"

"Is the owl business under control?" Mr Evans wanted to know.

"Bird is in the air and returning home," Lily informed him with a knowing smile.

"Good."

"Well, it was lovely to see you all," Vernon said as he ushered Petunia to the door.

"Yes, come again!" Mrs Evans waved them goodbye. "Bye!"

Mr Evans shut the door and turned to his wife. "Why do you always say that?"

"She is your daughter!" Mrs Evans reminded him with a stern finger.

Mr Evans grumbled and left to his study. " _You_ talk to him about drills next time," he muttered as he passed the girls, sending them into a fit of snickers.

 


	3. Two

"Bridget!" her father had called. "Can I speak to you for a moment?"

She had been sitting on the floor of her room, determining which of her Muggle clothes she'd need for her stay at Lily's. "Yeah, Dad, I'm in my room!"

Mr Durant had appeared at the doorway, but made no attempt to enter further as he watched her pour over various articles of clothing. Everything was in piles around her, like a great big nest, getting messier and messier as she tossed things over her shoulder.

"Want to come in, Dad?" she asked, looking between two skirts. "Think I need one?"

"Depends, will you be going out?" he questioned in a tone that clearly indicated she most certainly would not.

Bridget laughed and tossed them both to the 'leaving-behind' pile. "What d'you need?" she said as she turned to a pair of jeans.

"It's rather an important matter, Bridget," he replied, a sudden serious expression etched in his frown.

"Oh," she mumbled, standing up and stepping out of her web of clothes. "Right, well..." She trailed off as she patted the bed.

Without a word, he took a seat next to her. He took her hand in his, deep amber eyes settling on her.

"First, I have something to give you," he said and pulled out a small box from his robes. As she opened it, he continued, "Your grandmother's family ring – from the pair my grandfather made when he got married.”

Bridget took a closer look at the silver ring in her palm, the one she'd seen countless times on her mother's finger. It had the family crest on it; an elk reared in the middle with a laurel wreath sprouting from beneath it, branching out on either side. There, each end curled around its own wand. The elk was a symbol of power and nobility, while the laurel stood for triumph – everything her family held in high regard. The two wands represented their magical heritage, an equally important trait, if not even more so.

"Your mother and I planned to give it to you when you turned seventeen, when it's usually passed down," Mr Durant explained. "But I chose to do it now so it can remind you that, in these dark times, loyalty to family is the most important thing," he told her with a meaningful look.

Bridget understood what it meant. They may have allowed her to mingle with Muggle-borns, but when it came to it – and it would – she would have to choose her family. And all the traditions and beliefs that entailed.

She fiddled with the heirloom briefly, then looked up into his eyes and nodded. He smiled warmly and it tore her apart. She loved her family, she really did. But she couldn't easily believe such unjust things about Muggles as her parents did.

"It's lovely," she said instead, slipping it on. "Perfect fit."

"Magical enchantment," Mr Durant helpfully supplied. "Changes size each time it's put on a finger."

"Brilliant."

But this couldn't be all her father wanted. If it were, her mother would be present too. This was more serious than a family heirloom.

"What else?" she asked.

Her father's lip twitched into a half-smile. "Clever girl."

"Well Dad, you're acting terribly solemn and mysterious," Bridget sighed. "It's not very hard to put two and two together."

He was silent for a moment. "I need to ask a favour." He made sure to meet her eye again. "You said you wanted to help your brother."

Bridget's heart began racing. It had been exactly three months, two weeks and six days (she'd been counting) since she had accidentally overheard her parents talking in hushed voices in the living room. Talking about her brother, she had realised. And Azkaban.

"Mum doesn't know, does she?" Bridget guessed. "That you're talking to me, I mean."

"Your mother and I do not exactly see eye to eye on the subject," Mr Durant admitted. "Nevertheless, I feel you are old enough for the burden of it."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Of course not, darling!" he assured her defensively, as if she had personally insulted him, questioned his responsibility as a father. "Of course not! It's just your mother would rather not have you involved." He paused for a moment, a look of pondering in his eyes. "And if you have changed your mind, I won't ask it of you."

"'Course I still want to help, Dad," she said. "I _do_! I hate having Toby in prison as much as you do."

His eyes shined – Bridget could tell he was proud. Proud to see that she was on his side for once, that there was a limit to her resistance.

"What do I need to do?"

"Right." Mr Durant cleared his throat and went on. "Simple task. I was going to do it myself, only Borgin says it'll take some time to finish –”

"Sorry, Borgin? Of Borgin and Burkes?"

"The very one. I've given him the other ring –" He vaguely gestured to the one on his daughter's finger. "– my grandfather's – well, Toby's. He'll have it fixed."

She understood the meaning behind his words; she'd listened to what little he'd told her of his plan before. "Right."

“All I need of you is to go down to Borgin and Burkes and pick it up when it's ready,” he said with a pleased smile.

Bridget stared at him for a minute. "That's it?"

"Yes, that's it."

“That's all I can contribute to the great scheme?”

Mr Durant gave a hearty laugh. “What did you expect?"

"Well, I dunno. Distracting Aurors or something?" she suggested.

"Darling, I'd never give you something so dangerous!" he said and stood up. "Meeting Borgin is all you need to worry about. Like I said, I'd planned on doing it personally, but as it turns out, it's a trickier task than anticipated and will take longer. Your mother and I are quite eager to get to the country, so I thought you could pitch in while we're gone. Seeing as you'd expressed an interest in helping out." He grinned – a smile that closely resembled both his children's. “Thought it an ideal little job for you, in terms of getting involved, that is.”

A small smile tugged on Bridget's face. It was clear that all her father wanted was to make sure they didn't lose her. Perhaps he thought that by having her help, she'd bridge the proverbial, yet equally worrisome, gap between them. She'd finally be choosing a side – pureblood over muggle-born.

"Fine. Right. I'll do it," she babbled, palms sweating a little. "Not like I can mess this up, right?"

"Of course you won't, Bridget.”

She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Will you tell Mum about it?"

"I will when you come back and show us what a marvellous job you've done," he said, voice low as if they were conspiring, which, come to think of it, they were in a way.

"Now you're just exaggerating the importance of it!" Bridget laughed. "It's only a pickup!"

"And it makes me very happy to know you'll carry it out," he said and kissed her forehead.

 

* * *

 

With a sigh, Bridget recalled what her father had told her before she left to Lily's for the summer. She thought about possible ways to leave her friend for a while, so that she could go to Borgin and Burkes _alone_. Said redhead was currently pulling on her shoes while Bridget mulled over her options. There weren't many. But since they were meeting a few other friends in Diagon Alley, Bridget figured she had a better chance of leaving a group than just one person.

Finally, Lily's leather sandals were on, her light teal sundress straightened, and her mother's cheek kissed goodbye.

The sky was a brilliant, powder blue as the two walked through the busy streets of London. People pushed past as the afternoon sun beat down on them, hurrying down the pavement to be on time. But unlike everyone around them, the witches leisurely strolled by, idly switching from one topic to the next, enjoying their summer and relaxing for once.

As they rounded the corner and headed down the stairs towards the Underground, Bridget remembered the first time she took the Tube. Lily and she had been twelve and were on their way to Mary's house, which was on the other side of the city. Upon finding out Bridget intended to walk the whole way (What else could they do? Mary didn't have a fireplace to which they could travel by Floo powder, they weren't old enough to Apparate, and they couldn't use their brooms in broad daylight), Lily had led her to the London Underground and showed her how Muggles travelled.

Now, as they neared the ticket booth, Lily seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "You remember how to use Muggle money?"

"'Course," Bridget replied immediately. "Ten pounds is the one with the Queen."

"They all have the Queen."

"Right, I was testing you."

After they got their tickets (Lily had to step in since Bridget had given too much – "Honestly, the numbers are printed _right there_!"), they went to their platform and waited for the train.

"Hey, you know what I was thinking?" Bridget mused.

"What?" Lily asked as she looked at the end of the tunnel in search of their train.

"Imagine everything was reversed," Bridget said. "Imagine if wizards lived normally and it was the Muggles who had to hide. What d'you think of that?"

"I wish we could all live openly amongst each other," Lily replied.

"Think about it, though," Bridget went on. "We could fly on broomsticks, use magic freely, Apparate without worrying about scaring a Muggle!"

"It _does_ sound nice," Lily agreed with a wistful look. "But living in secret's not _that_ bad."

"Yeah, it is," Bridget argued. "You can't be yourself! What kind of life is that? Pretending to be something you're not?"

She suddenly realized what she was saying sounded _a lot_ like what her father often claimed. The idea frightened her a little, remembering that was the reason her family approved of You-Know-Who's aims.

Lily was silent for a minute. "You're not wrong," she said quietly.

Hissing, their train finally stopped in front of them, interrupting any further discussion, and the two girls got on. Bridget was stuck between a man breathing down her neck and a woman whose bushy hair kept getting in her face. This was too close to her personal space. She couldn't breathe normally without taking in some horrid smell, and the whole atmosphere of the carriage was awkward. She hated Muggle transport.

The ride was quiet and uncomfortable and Bridget nearly sprinted out when the train came to a halt. Lily got off shortly after her, but not before letting an elderly woman exit ahead of her.

"How can you stand it?" Bridget asked through gritted teeth. "It's horrible in there. _Ergh_!" She shuddered at the thought of being on the train again.

"It's not so bad!" Lily laughed as she looped her arm through her friend's and led the way.

They came up to Charing Cross Road and stopped in front of a small run-down pub, wedged between a bookshop and a record store. Smiling, Bridget went in after Lily and took in the familiar surroundings of the Leaky Cauldron.

It was rather dingy and a little shabby, but the customers were happy, each chatting in their corners, eating and drinking. Tom, the landlord, came out from the back of the bar and greeted the two witches as they passed.

"Good day, girls!" He smiled as he picked up two bottles. "Butterbeers?"

"No thanks, Tom," Lily replied, continuing their walk to the rear of the pub. "We're going to Diagon Alley."

"Maybe on the way back?" Bridget called over her shoulder and gave him a wave.

They stepped out to the small courtyard and tapped the correct pattern onto the brick wall. The bricks quickly rearranged themselves and created a passage to another, much busier street.

Diagon Alley stood in front of them in all its glory. Witches and wizards shuffled by, chatting as they went in and out of stores; animals squeaked and cawed from cages hanging in front ofshops; vendors shouted out prices and marvellous deals ( _“Seventeen Galleons! Only seventeen Galleons for_ real _dragon hide!”_ ).

"Lead the way," Lily announced and stretched out an arm for emphasis.

Bridget started down the cobbled street, Lily at her heels. She never got tired of this place. There was always something to look at: a new broom that had just come out, weird and peculiar potion ingredients, joke gadgets that got wackier each year, various stalls that sold a range of interesting items...

"Right, so off to Flourish and Blotts –"

Before Bridget could finish her sentence, a beaming face greeted her, and she was pushed back two paces as someone collided into her.

" _Merlin_ , it's so good to see you!" Marlene cried giddily, jumping off of Bridget to tackle Lily. "How've you been? I missed you so much!"

"We've been great," Lily said as Bridget worked to regain the breath that had been knocked out of her.

"Yeah, bet you have!" Marlene laughed, pulling back to look at both of them. "The two of you together all summer! I've had _no one_ for weeks!"

"Oh, don't pretend, Mar," Bridget teased playfully. "Come on, how many French blokes have you snogged?"

The three of them burst into laughter again and began their walk to Flourish and Blotts where they agreed to meet everyone.

"How was France?" Lily wanted to know. "You look good. You've got a tan!"

"Yeah, I lazed around a few beaches," Marlene admitted smugly, "watched a life guard or two."

"Eat many croissants?" Bridget asked.

"Oh, the dinners were so romantic!" Marlene said with a dramatic hand to her forehead. "Red wine, toasted baguettes, _fromage_!" She added with a grin. "It was perfect."

"Did you see the Eiffel Tower?" Lily asked.

"Yeah, 'course! Took loads of photos for you two!" Marlene said, sighing. "Anyway, what about you lot? Have a wild time without me?"

"Yeah, we went to the Natural History Museum," Lily told her.

"Right, but what about pubs and parties?" Marlene waved an impatient hand.

"Never really struck me as much as museums," Bridget said.

"Are you honestly going to tell me you prefer fossils and rocks over a few gorgeous blokes?"

"Now hold on," Bridget interrupted. "I never said I didn't like gorgeous blokes. I said I didn't like _parties_."

"Right, 'cause you're antisocial."

"'Cause they're loud and overcrowded and, frankly, really sweaty most of the time."

"Those are the best parts!"

" _Merlin_ , are you serious?"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this."

" _I_ can't believe I'm having to explain myself."

"Right! Marlene, leave Bridget to her extinct species!" Lily cut in, ever the peace-keeper. "And Bridge, leave Marlene to her hot and heavy chums, all right?"

"Now I feel like hitting a pub!" Marlene announced.

"Well you and Mary can go tonight," Lily assured her. "Now you have to get your school books."

"Ugh, school," Marlene groaned and threw her arms around her friends' shoulders. "I say we skip out early."

"You can't mean that about Hogwarts," Lily replied with a knowing grin.

"No, you're right. I love Hogwarts, it's the work I hate," Marlene said.

As her two companions dove into a debate over their least favourite subjects, Bridget kept an eye out for the rest of their friends. She recognised one or two groups of students from Hogwarts, bustling about with family. Two more weeks left of August, and then it was back to school. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach at the thought of the return of homework and studying, but comforted herself with the fact that it meant seeing the castle again.

Just as Marlene and Lily's conversation was reaching a crescendo of laughter and snorts, Bridget spotted a figure, hurtling towards them in apparent distress, hair flying and arms flailing.

"Mary!" Bridget called in delight and threw her arms around the other. "Haven't seen you the longest! What's it been? Two months?"

"Feels like two bloody _years_!" Mary wailed. "Listen, let's dash inside, because I've just ditched my mother at the Leaky Cauldron and I have to hide before she changes her mind and drags me off the map again!" She all but kicked them inside Flourish and Blotts, the other three laughing and shouting greetings.

"Go on, start sobbing," Marlene said, finally coming to hug her best friend. "How bad was it?"

Mary let out another great groan of exasperation. "Argh! It was _horrible_ ! More than a month with no one but my mother for company! Honestly, I can't believe I made it back! I thought I'd _die_!"

"Mary, you exaggerate," Lily laughed as they settled by the window to watch for their last two mates.

"No, Lily, that's Marlene," Mary countered, ignoring Marlene's shove in the shoulder. "You know I always tell the truth! And I am completely truthful when I say my mother has lost it! She had been bugging me with trust exercises and bond-building games, because she feels our relationship has become strained and some quality mother-daughter time would fix it." She finished with a dramatic and horribly put-upon sigh.

"No, you're right." Marlene nodded as she patted her on the back. "Completely lost it."

Bridget's face broke into a kind smile. "I think it's sweet."

" _Sweet_?" Mary very nearly shrieked.

"Yeah! She just wants to be close with you," Lily agreed. "You should consider yourself lucky, not all parents are like that."

"Yeah, not all parents carry their children off and hole them up in some shabby cottage with absolutely nothing to do," Mary complained, crossing her arms angrily.

They stood in silence for a minute, until Bridget asked, "Come on, Mary, there had to have been something good. Not one _teensy tiny_ detail?"

Mary huffed in surrender. "Well, it wasn't all bad." The girls let out mutual laughs and 'there you go's, prompting Mary to smile and go on, "At night, we'd lie on the beach and watch the stars. It was rather nice. You couldn't hear anything except for the waves and crickets. And there was a lovely sea breeze. Sometimes we'd make a fire and have a picnic." Mary's smile widened at the memory. "And Mum was so nice to talk to. Just the two of us together." She looked up to three identical grins. "What?"

"You dirty liar, you loved every minute of it!" Marlene accused.

"Admit it!" Lily laughed.

Mary was very bad at hiding her admitting smile, but she pressed on. "No, there were some really awful parts!"

"Of course!" Bridget scoffed sarcastically. "She, what, hugged you too much?"

"No! She flirted with this really scary fisherman once!"

" _Once_ and you never saw the bloke again?"

"It was really embarrassing!" Mary insisted over their laughing. "He had about thirty tattoos and a dozen sardines sticking out of his thick, shaggy beard!" Then she added in a gasp, "And how could I have forgotten? _A wooden stump for his left bloody foot_!"

That caused them all to laugh harder, earning them a stern shushing from the manager when he returned from the back.

"You here for books or what?" he demanded, hands on his hips and a frown on his face.

"Sorry, we're just waiting for our friends," Lily apologised, desperately trying to swallow her giggles.

"We'll buy books the minute they get here, promise!" Bridget added, eyes wet from too many chortles.

The man sighed, muttering something about 'youths these days' and returned to his previous work.

"In conclusion, it was a holiday of ups and downs, and many snuggles with my dear mum," Mary allowed. "But enough about me. Mar, you're the one who went abroad! How did the French treat you?"

Marlene launched into a dramatic retelling of a sword fight with baguettes, set to the soundtrack of a gripping number played on the accordion ("I swear, I'm not lying to you!"), ending with the loser tossing his beret down in shame, and the victor scooping Marlene up and kissing her as the sun set behind the Eiffel Tower, painting a truly enchanting picture of Paris in the summer.

"Well, I can't say Lily and I've done anything remotely as exciting," Bridget admitted. "But we've had fun. Lily's taken me to see films!”

The other three – two being Muggle-born and one a half-blood with a Muggle mother – nodded in understanding as Bridget basked in the glory that was Muggle cinemas.

"Muggles aren't half bad," Bridget continued. "I mean, it's like our moving photographs!"

"Yeah, Muggles tend to invent something interesting now and again," Marlene agreed. "Not exactly flying brooms or magic wands, but they do what they can."

Just then, the final two pieces of their group appeared at the window, looking around in confusion as they scanned the street.

"In here, you two!" Lily called as Mary tapped on the glass.

Alice and Frank both grew sizeable grins and hurried inside to join them.

"Sorry we're late!" Alice said, hugging the closest person to her, Bridget.

"Took you long enough," Marlene replied, thumping Frank on the back. "Whatchu do? Shag on the way over?"

Frank and Alice both went bright red and began babbling incoherently about traffic and something about a deranged pigeon.

"Don't be so crude, Mar," Mary said. "You know these two are too innocent to do anything of the sort."

“Well, they've been married since they were, what, thirteen?” Marlene said. “It would be about time anyway.”

Frank and Alice turned even redder, and both began arguing as Marlene yapped on about the natural order of things, and Lily and Mary laughed and chimned in with their own comments.

"Hey, guys," Bridget cut in, tugging on Alice's sleeve and glancing worriedly behind them. "I think we should buy our books already, because the manager's giving me a _really_ nasty stink-eye."

The comment prompted all of them to pull out their respective supply lists and scan through them. After a transitory shuffling around in search of the books each needed for their studies, the group exited the shop, catching Alice and Frank up on all that had been discussed during their absence.

"Now to the good stuff," Marlene announced. "How were _your_ holidays?"

"The creepy, suggestive eyebrow-waggling's not needed to get your point across," Lily noted to the other.

"Well, you never know with these two. They're so adorably oblivious," Marlene said defensively.

"Standing right here," Frank said. “Can we discuss my love life another time? Preferably when I'm not around?"

Mary patted him on the back. “Sorry, Frank. We'll stop now. Right, Marlene?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Marlene said, still grinning for ear to ear. “I'm finished.”

"So." Alice said. "Where to first?"

 


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that took a while to update - sorry! I had a senior project for school to work on, but now it's finally in the finishing stages and I can get back to my poor, neglected fic :)

"Right, I've got to go to Madam Malkin's for a new fitting," Marlene announced. "I've slimmed down a little this summer, so I'll be needing a smaller skirt."

"Anyone else need a new uniform?" Lily asked the others.

"No, not really," Mary said. "Though I'd like see if she's got any new dress robes, so I'll come with you, Mar."

"I've broken my quill and I seem to have lost the new bottle of ink I had," Alice said, glancing at a list written on a bit of parchment. “Also, I need owl snacks.”

"Good thinking. I need cat food," Lily noted. "So we'll go to Magical Menagerie, yeah?"

“Well, I wanted to get Colour-Change Ink at Scribbulus Writing Implements,” Frank said. “Shall I get your stuff too, Alice?”

"Bridget, you want to come along with us?" Lily offered as Alice handed Frank her list.

Bridget was about to agree (she wanted to pet a few of the Puffskeins sold at the Menagerie), but stopped short. This, she realised, was the opportunity she'd been waiting for; the perfect moment to sneak off to Borgin and Burkes without raising any suspicion.

"No, actually," she said.

“Yeah, I know, smells bad in there,” Marlene cut in. “Come along with us, we'll pick you something out too.”

“Thanks, but my uniform still fits, and anyway I need ...” She said the first thing that came to mind. “Scales. So I'll just head off to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment."

"Yeah, all right," Marlene replied, already starting to pull Mary away. "As my friends in France say, we'll _rendez-vous_ at the Leaky Cauldron in an hour!"

So each group set off in opposite directions, quickly dispersing in the crowd. Bridget started for the magical equipment store, but then made a quick left and hurried to a less reputable area.

The chipped and peeling sign reading 'Knockturn Alley' greeted her, and she ducked her head as she entered the ominously darker street. The shops there were not so much fascinating as they were disturbing, with items on display ranging from mildly terrifying to downright revolting (some of which included actual human body parts). The shoppers seemed to change with the street; their expressions gloomier, appearances slightly more sinister. The atmosphere was certainly not a cheery one, and Bridget – listing this as the _creepiest_ place she had ever been – decided, then and there, never to visit again. Passing a woman with an exceptionally nasty scowl (but a very tasteful robe), Bridget finally arrived at her destination.

Borgin and Burkes was no more inviting than the rest of the shops, painted a deep dark green, like poison. But given that there were no spleens encased in jars in the shop window, she decided it could have been worse, and pushed the door open. Upon entering, she was nearly decapitated by sharp , rust-covered instruments hanging from the ceiling. 

"Watch it!" a voice yelled as Bridget dodged a cleaver swinging her way. "Those are antiques!"

"Sorry!" Bridget immediately said, although she wasn't sure why she was the one apologising for nearly getting her head cut off.

"Agh, I'll have to move them." Her eyes finally settled on the man speaking in the dimly lit shop. "Fourth customer this week. Count yourself lucky, young missy! The last one got his nose hacked off!"

_"Encouraging start,"_ Bridget thought to herself as she walked up to the counter. "Are you Mr Borgin?" she asked.

"I am," the shopkeeper replied. "What'll it be?"

"I'm here to pick up an order," she said, looking at a few items through the glass counter top. 

They were seemingly ordinary things (disregarding the one rodent skull); a telescope, a pack of cards, and gold-rimmed circular glasses. Bridget wondered what kind of Dark Magic each possessed.

"Do you have anything for Mr Durant?" she inquired.

"Now look here, you think I give my customers' orders out willy-nilly?" Borgin demanded crossly. "I'll need some confirmation that Mr Durant really sent you."

She hadn't thought of that.

"I'm his daughter!"

"Yeah, nice try," Borgin snorted and stepped away from the register. "Go on, out with you!" 

He shoved her in the back and began escorting her to the door.

"I'm serious!" Bridget insisted as she pressed her heels against the hardwood floor, making it harder for Borgin to push her further. "Didn't he tell you he was sending me?"

"Must've conveniently slipped his mind!" Borgin grunted, kicking her feet forward.

She couldn't believe she was about to fail. All she had to do was get one package! And she couldn't even do _that._ Her dad had been so proud of her, giving her the family ring, entrusting her with—

Oh, she was so bloody thick.

"Wait! _Wait_!" Bridget cried, pulling the ring off her hand. "Can't you stop for a _minute_?!"

Borgin obliged reluctantly and demanded, "What now?"

Bridget held up the heirloom in triumph. " _That_ is my family's ring! Same as the one you've been working on! It's got our crest and everything. See?"

Borgin scrutinised the band she presented in her palm. "Mind if I examine it?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" she groaned. "Fine, go ahead! Knock yourself out."

Pulling out a pair of pince-nez and settling them on his crooked nose, Borgin narrowed his eyes and peered through the lenses. After tapping his wand twice against the ring, he seemed satisfied. 

"Everything seems in order, Miss," he said, handing her the ring back.

Bridget noted the change in his demeanour peevishly, the new-found humility and slight bow of his head replacing his suspicion and animosity.

"Sorry for the trouble," Borgin went on. "But you can see how I couldn't just give you your father's order without proof."

Well, she supposed she could understand. "Yeah, no worries," she replied as he disappeared in the back of the shop.

"Here we are!" he announced, opening up a box identical to the one her own ring had been in. "Good as new, and the enhancement works perfectly!"

Bridget looked up dubiously. "You sure?"

"Yes, the secret compartment is completely untraceable, as is anything that should be inside it," Borgin assured her. 

"Right, thank you," Bridget said and pulled out her bag of Galleons.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Durant." Borgin gave her a obsequious smile.

As she exited the shop and started down the street, she took out her brother's ring and began fiddling with it. She put it on her finger and it shrank to her size. Just to be sure, she tried pushing the head of the ring where the crest was engraved. It didn't budge.

She brought it closer and softly murmured her family motto. _“Dura et triumpha.”_

The head of the ring suddenly popped up and proved to be hinged, opening like a tiny hatch. It revealed a slim cavity that stretched into darkness, much deeper than it should have been possible. Bridget carefully prodded her finger inside, finding that she could fit the tip of it in. She smiled. So the password and the Extension Charm worked.

Not properly looking where she was going, she suddenly collided with something for the second time that day.

"Oi, watch it – Blimey, it's you, Bridget!"

Quickly shoving the ring into her pocket, Bridget looked up to the supposed acquaintance. Striking grey eyes greeted her, and a mischievous grin that had gotten her into far too much trouble as a child grew even wider as the person it belonged to held out a hand.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't even recognise you, not having seen you in so long," Bridget teased, taking the offered hand.

Sirius Black stood in front of her in all his annoyingly-handsome glory, trying (and failing) to look innocent. "Yeah, sorry I haven't been in touch. It slipped my mind, to tell you the truth, what with all that James and I were up to.”

Bridget dismissed it with a laugh. “Well, since you were having fun, I guess I can forgive you.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “And how are things at home?”

Sirius shrugged, looking away. “Standard,” he said. “Gets a bit worse every year. Thinking about leaving, honestly.”

He said it nonchalantly, as if bored. But Bridget could tell from the way he didn't meet her eyes that it bothered him, even if only a little. She decided not to press the subject further.

“So how was your summer with the Potters?” she asked instead. “You went to their place near the seaside, yeah?”

“It was brilliant,” Sirius said smugly. “James' parents let us do whatever we wanted  – But hang on, we'll catch up in a minute. I want to know what you're doing in Knockturn Alley."

Bridget froze for a moment, having had completely forgotten where they were. "I... got lost."

"The big sign at the beginning of the street didn't give you any help?"

"Har har, you're so witty."

"I do my best."

Bridget crossed her arms. "And what are _you_ doing here?"

"I've got nothing to hide, mate," Sirius said, putting his hands out as if to prove his point. "I was here to buy a neat little box with a particularly entertaining hex." He pulled out the aforementioned object and brandished it in front of her.

"By hex, you mean curse?"

"Well, nothing overly harmful," he conceded with a shrug. "Just for a special few back at Hogwarts."

"Are the others here too?" Bridget asked.

"Of course. Peter saw a few shrunken heads in a shop window and got sick. James and Remus took him to the Leaky Cauldron to calm down." Bridget grimaced in sympathy as he went on, "And are the girls here?"

“Yeah, all of us. Oh, plus Frank,” she said. “I'm on my way to the Leaky Cauldron actually. We're meeting there.”

“Well, I've gotten all I came here for,” Sirius said. “Lead the way, then.”

The two walked out of the dark alley, and re-entered the other more colourful street. They passed Quality Quidditch Supplies, with both of them stopping to glance at the new broomstick levitating in the shop window, its ridiculous price advertised in bright gilded letters beside it.

“You get a chance to play any Quidditch?” Sirius asked as their eyes traced the broom's handle. “Over the summer, I mean.”

Bridget shook her head as she narrowed her eyes at the offending price tag. “You know Lily's not too fond of Quidditch. We did loads of other fun stuff, though. You ever been to see a Muggle film?”

“Once or twice with James to see what it was all about.” Sirius huffed a short laugh. “I forgot you spent the summer with Lily.”

“Yeah, I've been staying at her house for three weeks,” Bridget said. “You wanna go in? Have a quick look around?” She stuck a thumb out in the direction of the shop entrance.

He nodded and held the door open for her. “So, your parents are all right with you staying at a Muggle house?” he asked as they looked at a few displayed Quidditch robes.

Bridget gave him a wry look. “They're not over the moon obviously. But Mum's okay with it. You know she's always been more liberal. Dad's slightly less so, but I assume he allows it as long as I don't go around London professing my love for wizard-Muggle equality.” She snorted, picking up a Quaffle and tossing it between her hands. “It's ridiculous, really. As if the prejudice against them is justified.”

“So they support Voldemort, then?”

The blunt way he asked – coupled with You-Know-Who's name – actually startled her.

“Don't say that!” she said in an angry hiss.

“What? 'Voldemort' or that they support him?” Sirius asked, completely at ease with saying that _word_ aloud.

“Both!” She dragged him away from a couple watching them dubiously.

“What, are you scared of the name too?” he laughed, if mockingly or endearingly, she couldn't tell at the moment. 

Slightly irate, she ignored him and instead grabbed a Quidditch magazine off of a nearby rack. She began listing through it, hoping that he understood the discussion was over.

“Just sounds to me,” Sirius went on, apparently oblivious, “that your dad thinks along the same lines as Death Eaters, is all. I mean, from what I know about him.”

Bridget spun around and glared up at him (he was a good few centimetres taller, and it fuelled her anger). “I'm not going to talk about this now. _Here_ , of all places.” She made sure to channel her irritation into her tone. “And, _no_. My parents don't support him.”

Then, with a sense of finality, she turned her back to him, looked down at the magazine in her hands, and didn't say another word. 

“Bridget?” he asked, leaning over her shoulder to see what was so interesting. “Oi, are you mad at me?”

No response.

“C'mon, Bridge, talk to me.” If he thought using the nickname would help, he had better think again.  
Determinedly ignoring his calls, she kept on reading until he took the magazine out of her hands – a shame, because she was just getting to an interesting quiz, 'So You Think You Know Quidditch?'

“What, is it something I said –” he began.

“Funnily enough,” she interrupted him, snatching the magazine back, “the fact that you keep suggesting my parents support a manic mass-murderer somewhat offends me.”

Sirius' expression softened, his lips forming a slight 'o' shape as he realised what he did wrong.

“Mate, look, I'm sorry,” he said.

Bridget gave him one more glare for good measure. “'S all right,” she said grudgingly, turning to put back the magazine. “I know you didn't mean it.”

“No, listen.” He pulled her around to face him fully. “I didn't think – I meant –” He stopped himself with a groan. “I didn't think you'd mind –”

“Didn't think I'd _mind_ –”

“Not like that! I – just listen,” Sirius said firmly. “I misspoke, alright? I'm so used to criticising my own parents for their beliefs that I forgot you didn't feel the same – about your parents, I mean, not their beliefs,” he added quickly, seeing her open her mouth to argue again. “I'm sorry for accusing your dad, really, I am. I said it thoughtlessly. S'pose I forgot it could sound rotten to someone who actually _likes_ their parents.”

Bridget couldn't help the snort that escaped her. “Yeah, well...”

“I didn't mean to upset you,” he insisted. “Promise.”

Her smile widened, now turning apologetic. “I know you didn't.”

She hadn't realised he'd been holding her hand until he cleared his throat and let it go.

“So we're good, then?” he clarified.

“'Course.”

“Good, 'cause I think we better get going and meet the others.”

When they reached the Leaky Cauldron, they found it filled with more customers than it had been earlier. Lunch hour had arrived, and the pub was serving several cheerful groups of witches and wizards, all gathered around wooden tables. The clinking of bottles and plates, and the buzz of lively chatter floated from all corners, giving the pub a certain cosiness.

As they stepped in from the chilly courtyard, a voice cried out to them, “Oi, Sirius!”

Bridget and Sirius both looked to where two arms were sticking out of the crowd, waving and gesticulating. James Potter's grinning face appeared momentarily when the wizard sitting at the table in front of him shifted due to swinging his mug around emphatically (and spilling its contents in the process) as he spoke to his companion jovially.

“Took you long enough,” James said as they drew nearer. “I assume you're the reason he's late?”

“Guilty,” Bridget admitted and accepted his hug. She smiled over James' shoulder to the boy next to him. “Hello, Remus. Nice tan.”

“Yeah, I joined these two at the beach for a few days,” Remus said. “My mum thought it'd do me good.”

“She's doing okay now, yeah?” Bridget asked, giving a wave to Peter, who smiled back. “Hi, Peter.”

“She's fine, thanks,” Remus assured her (though, curiously, looked down and rubbed the back of his neck).

“Oh, James.” Sirius elbowed his best friend. “She's been at Lily's for half the summer.”

“Really?” James raised a sly eyebrow, lacing his fingers in front of him. “And how is dear Evans? Has she mentioned me?”

“Well, she'll be coming here any minute, so you can ask her yourself, you bloody five-year-old,” Bridget said. “Hang on, I'm going to get myself a Butterbeer.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” James cut in. “You're surrounded by four gentlemen. Peter, go and get one, will you?”

“I've got two legs myself,” Bridget insisted as Sirius pulled her back down.

“Nah, 's all right, I'm going,” Peter said.

“Thanks, Peter,” Bridget added as he passed her. “So, go on. Tell me all the things you've been up to. I bet you two are especially excited to gloat.” She grinned at James and Sirius.

“Well, we did do a _few_ brilliant things,” Sirius admitted with a grin that suggested they were anything but 'few'.

The two of them took turns narrating their adventures, with Remus supplying helpful comments and thinly-veiled sarcastic remarks. One story that was particularly interesting was about a broken-down Muggle motorcycle they had found and were currently trying to fix up with magic. So far, they'd managed to blow up the exhaust pipe twice and make the engine roar so loudly it popped eardrums. But Sirius was confident they could get it to work – “We're two very exceptional wizards,” he said (very self-assuredly, it might be added). “We'll get it right soon enough.” He even hoped to make it fly eventually.

It was around this time that the rest of their friends began arriving. Frank showed up first, claiming that the reason it took him ages to come was because he went looking for Bridget at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment (Sirius laughed while Bridget coughed and muttered about getting lost). Then came Marlene and Mary, a bag in each one's hand and very satisfied smiles on their faces. The last were Alice and Lily, the former waving excitedly and the latter giving an outright groan. Nevertheless, she plastered on a polite smile when greeting James.

“Potter.” She addressed him last. At least she was trying to get along for the time being.

“Have a nice summer, Evans?” James wanted to know with a grin.

“Very nice, up until this moment.”

Bridget always found it amusing how Lily was the most kind-hearted person she knew, and yet, when faced with James, all her sense of civility was abandoned.

“I was meaning to ask you, Lily,” Remus said before James could open his mouth again. “Did you get the prefect badge?”

“'Course she did!” Marlene couldn't help exclaiming. “Who else would it've been?”

“I did,” Lily said, smiling big. “And the boy's badge? It's you, yeah?” she asked hopefully.

Remus nodded with a laugh. 

“We're all very proud,” James interjected.

“Didn't expect it, actually,” Remus admitted with a grin to his friends.

“Yeah, well, the rest of us did,” Sirius said.

“You were always the good one among this lot,” Frank said teasingly, quirking his eyebrows at James and Sirius.

“Us?” James inquired innocently, with a hand to his chest.

Sirius even feigned a gasp. “I'll have you know, we're always trying to be on our very best behaviour.”

“'Trying' being the key word,” Mary stage-whispered.

Laughter followed and there were collective demands for lunch to be ordered. Later, while passing around each other's meals, the topics of discussion hopped from recent summer anecdotes to the excitement of their return to school. They laughed loudly at jokes (mostly told by James), and slapped away hands trying to steal their chips (mostly attempted by Sirius). Alice and Frank were cajoled into sharing the details of their holiday together, and Remus was forced to retell an embarrassing story about a girl at the beach he was urged into talking to by James and Sirius.

Another round of Butterbeers arrived, and James raised his bottle. “A toast to –” He lowered his arm as he faltered. “Hang on, what are we toasting to?”

“Never being serious,” Sirius said. “'S my motto, you know.”

“Bit ironic when applied to you,” Bridget noted.

“How about to another year at Hogwarts?” Alice offered.

“Yeah, the most stressful,” Marlene said. “What with the O.W.L.s coming up.”

James raised his bottle once more. “All right, yeah. To another distressing year at Hogwarts!” He paused for a split second. “And to never being serious,” he added quickly, the afterthought greeted with laughs and cheers.

 


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start off by saying that I didn't realise that I hadn't updated this fic in a whole year! My only excuse is school - I have my A Levels coming up next month and had loads of stuff to do in preparation for uni, so that's where all my time has gone. I can't promise that new chapters will be posted regularly, at least until the summer, but I promise I will try updating more frequently than I have been!

Bridget often thought there had to have been a mistake when she was born. She couldn't come from the very long, _very_ proud lines of Durants and Notts, who thought themselves better than others simply because their blood was magical and 'pure' – a foolish belief since the claim was doubtful in all pure-blood families (who wouldn't have survived to this day without _some_ Muggle blood).

Bridget's mother, Mirella Durant (neé Nott), was a classic example of a pure-blood witch. Tall and slim, with exceptionally good looks, she had been brought up in a very strict family, on generations of prejudice against those proclaimed lower than her. Therefore it was hardly surprising that she herself had accepted pure-blood supremacy from a young age. Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on who was asked – she was rather less fanatical and more self-willed, and had never been as obsessed with this so-called superiority as fervently as many of her family members. As a result, she hadn't forced it as much on her own daughter.

Mrs Durant was as beautiful as she was well-bred. Sadly, few of her good features had passed on to Bridget. She only had her eyes; a deep, warm hazel. But whereas her mother's had a gleam of patience and understanding, Bridget's sparked with cheerfulness and thrill.

In contrast, Bridget's father, Bartholomeus Durant, had much sharper features. His eldest, Tobias, was the spitting image of him, like he of his own father _and_ grandfather. They all shared a strong, defined jaw, bold amber eyes, and the proud air of a man with important heritage.

With the sharper characteristics came sharper views on those of non-magical blood, firmly believing in the privilege wizards had (or rather _should_ have had) over Muggles. However, while Mr Durant may have supported You-Know-Who's idea of wizard dominance, he by no means approved of his methods. Say what one may about him, but he was not cruel at heart. He was merely a man with the convictions – however wrong they might seem – that those with magical abilities were naturally an authority to those without. To him, it seemed logical: one was clearly more capable than the other.

Compared to two such traditional depictions of pure-bloods, Bridget never felt as dignified as her parents. She was short – not extremely so, but compared to the rest of her family: _short_. She had a freckled button nose (unlike all of her relatives' long and straight ones), a posture that said 'excited' rather than 'graceful', and a personality to match.

All in all, a switch must have occurred.

 

* * *

 

When she and Lily came home on the day of her departure, Bridget was surprised, to say the least, to find her mother sitting at the Evans' kitchen table, looking at a telephone, clearly perplexed.

“And you mean to say that one can hear another person over vast distances through this instrument?” she was asking, pointing an accusatory finger at the telephone.

“Yes, that's right.” Mrs Evans smiled amusedly. 

“No magic involved?”

“None.”

“How absolutely fascinating.”

Bridget ventured forward, unsure whether what she was seeing was real. “Uh, Mum?”

“Oh, hello, darling.”

Mrs Durant remained poised and seated, seemingly unaffected by her daughter's arrival. But her smile beamed at Bridget, speaking volumes underneath the proper etiquette a witch of her status was expected to maintain in company. She was as elegant and graceful as ever. And yet, she appeared out of place in the messy little kitchen, too formal in silk robes of teal and peacock blue, her dark curls pinned up in a bun, not a single hair loose.

“You remember Lily,” Bridget said.

“Of course. How are you?” She smiled kindly at Bridget's friend, making her daughter ridiculously happy with the small gesture.

“Fine, thank you,” Lily said. “How was your holiday?”

“Wonderful, thank you.”

They stood in silence for a moment, before Bridget said, “Shall I go get my stuff, then?”

Up in Petunia's room, Bridget hurried around gathering up the final few belongings she'd left for last-minute packing. Lily followed her slowly, slumping a little and frowning.

“Can't believe you're going,” she said solemnly. “It feels so soon.”

“I know,” Bridget whined. “I wish I could stay longer, but I have to be home for my mum's birthday this weekend,” she explained, ducking under Petunia's bed. “Sorry, have you seen my hairbrush?”

Lily picked it up from behind some books on the desk. “Here it is,” she said in a detached tone.

“Look, Lils,” Bridget said as she threw the brush into her trunk. “Don't think of it as goodbye. We'll see each other in, what, six days?” She gave her an encouraging smile. “That's less than a week!”

“Barely,” Lily pointed out.

“Well, then in _barely_ less than a week, we'll be sitting on the train, on our way to living together for ten whole months!” Bridget held her by the shoulders and lightly shook her. “ _Ten whole months!_ Trust me, this time apart will pass in a flash.”

Lily put on a brave face and nodded. Then, they each took hold of one end of the trunk, while Bridget picked up her owl cage, Archibald hooting excitedly at the commotion. Once they were downstairs in the kitchen, Mrs Durant stood up and turned one last time to Mrs Evans.

“Thank you for all you've done for Bridget,” the witch said. “It was very kind of you to house her for so long.”

“Yeah, thanks very much, Mrs Evans,” Bridget said.

“It was a pleasure, really,” Mrs Evans assured her.

“See you soon, Lily.” She hugged the other girl tight, attempting to steel herself and encourage Lily at the same time.

Her mother held out a hand for Bridget to take and grasped the birdcage with the other. Feeling a bit like a four-year-old, but at the same time glad to be with her mum again, Bridget gave one last smile to Lily before the kitchen twisted out of view as they Disapparated.

 

* * *

 

“There we are,” Mrs Durant announced. “Duraund Hall.”

Setting down her trunk, Bridget looked around the entrance hall of their country home in Hampshire. It looked the same as it did when she had last seen it – and probably the same as when it had been built back in the 18th century, when 'Durant' still had its ancient spelling. It was grand, and yet at the same time simple, with smooth stone columns reaching up to high ceilings, and wide, even staircases separating the Hall into two wings. Little of the English Palladian design had been altered over the years, just as the Hall's name hadn't evolved, even though the surname itself had. Her family had never been very fond of change.

“Good to be back, Mum,” Bridget said, when suddenly her mother pulled her close and hugged her.

“We missed you,” she said with a sigh. “This house wasn't the same without you. And with Toby gone, it was a little lonely.”

A slight sense of guilt washed over Bridget. “I thought you and Dad would enjoy some time to yourselves.”

“Well, that _is_ true,” Mrs Durant admitted. “I'd honestly forgotten what it had been like before children came along. But a mother can't help it after twenty years of constant doting.” She finally straightened up and called out, “Welby!”

There was a faint pop, and a house-elf bowed low at her mistress' feet.

“Hello, Welby,” Bridget greeted her before Mrs Durant could give orders.

“Miss Durant.” Welby smiled sheepishly, well aware that she wasn't supposed to be on friendly terms with any members of the family.

“Take Bridget's things to her room,” Mrs Durant ordered simply, as she had been accustomed to doing all her life. Then she turned to her daughter with a smile. “Come, let's find your father.”

“To be honest,” Bridget said as they walked to the sitting room Mr Durant often frequented, “I didn't expect to see you at Lily's. Thought we agreed to meet in the park down the road.”

“Yes, that was your father's idea,” Mrs Durant said. “But those people cared for you for little less than a month. The correct thing to do was thank them personally.” She fell silent, but looked like she wanted to say more. “And I wanted to see the inside of a Muggle home.” It came out in such a rush that Bridget thought she had misheard it. “But don't tell your father.”

Bridget laughed out loud. She loved her mum – despite the privileged prejudice she had grown up with and accepted as natural, she never could overcome her curiosity about the unfamiliar, and it was this curiosity that made her more accepting of her daughter's Muggle-born friends.

“Yeah, no worries,” Bridget promised.

The sitting room – although a little dim and stuffy due to the thick curtains draped over each window – was an elegant place to bring guests, furnished with deep red armchairs and sofas, looming ceiling-high bookshelves, and sprawling Persian rugs to remind visitors (in case they hadn't quite gotten it already) of the family's wealth. Various ornaments stood about the room; a globe bearing an olden portrayal of the world in one corner, and a marble bust of a long-deceased ancestor in another. A gilt folding screen was placed before one of the windows so that it blocked half the view, as if separating the residents from the outside world. All the while, next to an empty stone fireplace, a grandfather clock ticked away the minutes, perhaps since the first Durant had lived within these walls.

Her father was seated behind an oak desk, apparently talking to himself. A great grey owl sat on a perch next to him, its head following the quill that danced across a roll of parchment by itself.

“Ah, Bridget!” Mr Durant cried. “Welcome, darling  – no, don't cite that!” he added angrily to the quill, which began frantically scratching out its work. “Never mind, I'll do it later.” He stood up and came forwards to greet her.

“You look good, Dad,” Bridget said as she was engulfed in yet another hug. “Well-rested and all.”

Stress had been taking its toll on him. But now the recent lines on his brow seemed smoother than before, and with his beard just recently trimmed short, he looked younger. Like his wife, he wore a rich robe, deep purple with golden swirls embroidered around the hems. He was brighter, happier.

“Nothing like the countryside to soothe one's soul,” he said. “But enough about that. How'd it go?”

“Oh, it was brilliant,” Bridget said. “Lily and I –”

“Not that – I mean, I'm glad, don't misunderstand me,” Mr Durant interrupted. “But the pick up! How was the pick up?”

“What pick up?” Mrs Durant's tone immediately became suspicious. “What have you gotten her into, Bartholomeus? If this has anything to do with your plan –”

“I've got the ring in my trunk!” Bridget said, smiling broadly.

Her father clapped his hands and cried a hearty, “Aha!” at the same time her mother growled, _“Bartholomeus.”_

“Well done, darling!” He ignored his wife in favour of embracing Bridget once more. “And it works?”

“Perfectly – Borgin said so!”

“Wonderful, wonderful! Tell me how you  –“

“I thought I made it clear,” Mrs Durant cut in, voice now steel-hard, “that I wanted her to have no part in it.”

Mr Durant and Bridget warily turned their attention to her, only to find a tower of cold fury glaring down at them. Both were a little more than intimidated.

“But, dearest –” Mr Durant tried to explain.

“Don't 'but-dearest' me.” The fact that she was so calm made it even more frightening. “We've already had one child caught up in this. I will not have my other.”

“But, Mum, I wanted to,” Bridget said.

Her mother's glare softened. “Darling, I know. But you are the fifteen-year-old child, and your father the responsible adult. You, I can forgive.”

“Well, it's done now,” Mr Durant said. “And no harm came to her, as if I'd let it,” he added in a grumble.

“Yes, it _is_ done,” Mrs Durant rounded on him. “It stops here, Bart. I mean it.”

“All right, yes,” he agreed. “Bridget, you heard your mother. That was your first and last taste of undercover work. I'm afraid your career is over.”

“Make jokes if you wish,” Mrs Durant said, one unimpressed eyebrow raised, “but remember which of us is the more skilled duellist.”

Mr Durant opened his mouth to argue, but shut it quickly. “You make a very compelling point, my dear. Lunch?” he suggested hopefully.

Bridget's mother gave one last glower to her husband, then let a smile grace her features, and the three of them ventured towards the dining room.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, at her mother's birthday luncheon, Bridget was dutifully standing at the Hall's entrance, wishing that all the guests would just hurry up and arrive all at once. She shook hands and smiled, giving the same answers over and over again to trite, superficial questions (“Fifteen now.”, “Hogwarts, yes.”, “Taking the O.W.L.s – very daunting, I know.”). She watched witches and wizards gush and rave about the gorgeous estate, none even recognising that it was thanks to the household's elves that the entire place functioned daily. 

The house-elves had spent all of yesterday scurrying around, making preparations for the party. Seven of them had been popping up and down the house, dusting, washing, scrubbing, sweeping and de-cluttering with the snap of their fingers, while six others had been sorting the gardens, watering the flowers and arranging tables and chairs. Today was even more chaotic for them, since they were both cooking and serving. Half of the elves toiled away in the kitchens, while those that went out onto the grounds were unobtrusive as they subtly held out platters of food and laid dishes on the tables.

Bridget hadn't expected any of the guests to thank them, but it kept irritating her anyway. And that only made her more annoyed with herself, because she _knew_ this was what pure-bloods were always like. They wouldn't think of a house-elf unless they suddenly needed something from it – it was just their way of life. 

But these house-elves had been with her since she could crawl. They made her days better in small ways, always arranging things in the way she wanted them – often before she even knew she wanted it herself; hot cocoa at the end of a long day, her favourite book left waiting on her bed, the exact shoes she'd wanted to wear picked out from her cluttered wardrobe. What's more, they were loyal and helpful, and brave enough to even be playful when shown only a little kindness. She couldn't help feeling protective of them.

So she tried to thank them herself, attempting to catch the eye of each that passed her and smile. It proved to be difficult, since most looked at the floor as they walked. Bridget comforted herself with the thought that at least house-elves liked the work, and that the Durants, though never looking at them as anything but subordinates, never mistreated them either. It was more than what others got.

“Hello there, mate,” Sirius Black interrupted her thoughts. “Don't you look cheerful.” He kissed her on both cheeks and grinned, clearly pleased to have caught her by surprise.

“Sirius, I – oh, hello, Mr Black, Mrs Black, Regulus.”

Mr and Mrs Black said a few words on how she'd grown over the summer, whereas Sirius' brother said nothing at all. Then they left to the gardens as another family arrived.

“I didn't think you'd be coming,” Bridget finally said after the guests had gone. “Thought maybe you'd have come up with a way to get out of it.”

“And leave you to suffer here by yourself?” Sirius said. “Never! I don't leave mates stranded.”

“Well, I'm afraid we've got no other friends coming,” Bridget told him. “I tried to convince Mum to invite Andromeda, but... ” She trailed off with a sad shrug.

“Yeah, I didn't expect any different,” Sirius said. “It's been, what, three years since she's married Ted? If they were going to forgive her, they would have by now.”

“Bridget,” her father interrupted. “Oh, still here, Sirius?”

“Yes, can't get away from your daughter, sir,” Sirius replied with a grin, which then very quickly withered when Mr Durant frowned deeply. “In a strictly platonic manner of speaking, of course.”

Her father decided to ignore him and turned back to Bridget. “You remember Cadmus Fawley, don't you, Bridget?”

Bridget smiled to the man introduced. She'd met Fawley once or twice on gatherings like these, never really speaking more than five words to him. He was the familiar face of a stranger. Rather like everyone else in her house at the moment.

“'Course, I do,” Bridget replied, shaking his hand. “How are you?”

“Just popped in from work actually, so a bit tired,” Fawley admitted. “Other than that, I'm fine, thanks.”

“He's the Deputy Head of the Auror Office, you know,” Mr Durant said. “Just recently promoted. It's quite incredible – only thirty-two years of age. Risen to the top of the department faster than a Snitch, isn't that right, Fawley?”

“You're over-exaggerating your praise, Durant,” Fawley laughed.

“No, it's very impressive,” Bridget agreed.

“I'll let you go off then,” Mr Durant said to Fawley, gesturing towards the house. “Make yourself at home.”

Sirius, who had moved a little way behind, stepped back into place next to her. “Must be cool to be an Auror, I reckon.” 

“You'd probably make a good one,” Bridget said. “Except for your total inability to follow the rules.”

“Yeah, but I'd be brilliant _because_ of that. Working outside the law in order to maintain it,” Sirius insisted. “Anyway, it'd be good to do something about what's going on nowadays,” he added in a more sombre tone.

“Mhm,” Bridget hummed in agreement. Then she said in a lower voice, “Maybe talk about this later? I mean, when we're not surrounded by purists and rumoured Death Eaters?”

“Good thinking.”

The Rosiers arrived next, along with their son Evan, a boy that Bridget and Sirius knew from school. Neither were particularly fond of him, nor he of them, and Bridget feared for a moment that Sirius might start up an argument. But Rosier's friends, Avery and Mulciber, had already come earlier, so he didn't stay to chat. He merely gave Bridget a disinterested glance when greeting the hosts.

“ It's stupid that James and Frank's families are never invited to these things,” Sirius noted, glaring at the back of Rosier's head. “I mean, for Merlin's sake, the Longbottoms are one of the  Sacred Twenty-Eight, and the Mulcibers aren't! And yet  _ they _ always show up.”

“Sirius, you _know_ why that is. The Longbottoms and Potters don't fit in with this lot,” Bridget said. “They're pure-bloods, yeah, but they don't exactly hide their dislike of this supremacist nonsense, do they?” She sighed. “Besides, didn't James say they have their own parties?”

“Yeah, and I bet they're loads more fun,” Sirius snorted.

“Do the Weasleys go to those?” Bridget asked. “I've never actually met one. I hear they're a laugh. Though when Dad says it, he seems more disdainful than praising.”

“Yeah, James says they're a fun lot,” Sirius said. “Them and the two Prewett brothers. Both their families are in the Directory too, you know.

“There's also this bloke Kingsley Shaklebolt – _again_ part of the Twenty-Eight – and he's an Auror like Fawley. Granted, he's still starting out in the lower ranks, but he's got some brilliant stories. His group's doing real work against Death Eaters – s'pose that's why we never see him here.”

He let out an aggravated sigh.

Bridget voiced what she assumed he was groaning about, “Meanwhile we're stuck with people like Mulciber.”

“ _Exactly._ ”

Cygnus and Druella Black eventually arrived with their remaining two daughters, Bellatirx and Narcissa, accompanied by Sirius' other uncle, Alphard. He stopped and chatted to Sirius and Bridget for a while, always having been particularly fond of his young nephew.

“You know, I used to think you had a dragon in your basement, Uncle Alphard,” Sirius was saying.

Alphard gave a booming laugh and slapped Sirius on the back.

“Was it because of the roaring ovens he has down there?” Bridget asked.

“Well, that and I've always thought you were just really wicked,” he admitted.

“Ah, bless you, boy.” Alphard slapped him some more.

“Oh, forgot to ask!” Bridget said. “My mum told me Narcissa's engaged to Lucius Malfoy now?”

“Yes, my brother and his wife are very pleased,” Alphard said as they all turned to watch the young couple in question, talking to Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus by the fountain. “What with him being from such a respectable family.”

“That'll be all three daughters married then,” Sirius noted. “Two to complete and utter gits, praised and celebrated, and the only one married to a decent bloke, banished.”

“How is Andromeda? I haven't been to see her all summer,” Bridget admitted guiltily.

“I've been recently. She's doing well,” Alphard said. “Little Nymphadora's absolutely charming – very amusing with her Metamorphic abilities. A bit on the clumsy side though, even at the tender age of two.”

All in all, the afternoon passed much in the same manner. There never was anything else to do other than discuss the recent events in one's own life or in the life of others. When they had been younger, Bridget, Sirius and Andromeda used to be able to get away with climbing trees or playing in ponds, making these parties more bearable. But the older they got, the more rigid the restraints of social etiquette became, binding them to a boring, tortuously slow way of passing the day. Still, no one could ever stop the jokes and laughs they shared at the expense of their company.

 


	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so study leave seems to be much better for my writing and productivity since there's no homework or 8-hour torture sessions every day. I'd been writing steadily until my laptop crashed and took 3 days to repair, but now it's back so hopefully updates can come faster than I planned!

September 1 st found Bridget at King's Cross Station, idly leaning against her trolley as she and her parents waited on Platform 9¾. It was somewhat of an unspoken custom for them, all three there together, with Mr Durant even taking the time from work to see his daughter off; one last moment to spend together before being separated for the next three and a half months, until the Christmas holidays would reunite them once more.

Her father was quizzing her on the things she'd packed, checking that she had everything she needed and offering to Apparate home whenever Bridget denied having taken something.

“I don't understand why you never let a house-elf do your packing,” Mr Durant noted. “I mean, they're efficient and, I dare say, capable of carrying out such a simple task.”

“Because I'd rather do it myself. That way I'm positive I've taken everything I need,” she replied.

“Come now, Bart, that's precisely what you taught her, isn't it?” Mrs Durant smiled mischievously. “Take matters into your own hands?”

Mr Durant was not impressed. “I wasn't referring to packing.”

The Hogwarts Express was due at any moment, and Bridget looked around for any of her friends. She'd spotted Lily and her parents a while ago, but they'd only given each other a wave. Neither had forgotten the first time their parents had been introduced, back at the beginning of their second year, here at the very same place.

The Evanses had come over for a friendly greeting, only to soon realise it had been a mistake. When they'd approached, Mr Durant had stiffened and looked away as if something on the ceiling had been terribly fascinating, whereas Mrs Durant reacted marginally better, giving a tight smile and elbowing her husband sharply in the ribs until he also grunted out a 'hello'. What followed had been an awkward silence, mercifully interrupted by the arrival of the train.

Well, that would never be happening again, thank you very much. Bridget had nearly died of embarrassment that day and had consequently spent ten minutes apologising to Lily on the train.

Just then, a loud whistle pierced the air and the Hogwarts Express pulled up in a streak of red and billows of smoke. Bridget turned to her parents with a reassuring grin, already expecting her mother's teary eyes and her father's wavering smile.

“I'll write often,” Bridget promised. “Every week,” she added, hugging her mum.

Mrs Durant tried to suppress a sniffle and smiled. “Don't trouble yourself too much. Now and then will be perfectly all right.”

“Be good, study well. The usual,” Mr Durant said and kissed her forehead. “Enjoy yourself too, though.”

“I'll see you soon, then.” Bridget boarded the train and tugged the trunk her father passed her.

She gave them one last smile before they Disapparated, and went inside to find a compartment to settle into. A small way down, she bumped into Mary and, together, they searched the corridors, which were quickly being filled with other students.

“Marlene's late as usual,” Mary was saying. “Knew I should've sent her a Howler.”

“Maybe she's here already! Hiding in a compartment and waiting to surprise you,” Bridget suggested with a laugh.

“Ha! Wouldn't put it past her if I knew her will was stronger than her love for sleep. … Which it isn't.”

“There you are!” Lily suddenly appeared at the open door, struggling against the surge of students climbing onto the train. “Listen, I won't be sitting with you, not in the beginning anyway – Careful!” she cried as an owl cage nearly slammed into the side of her head. “I've got to go to the prefect carriage – my letter said so – for instructions from the Head Boy and Head Girl.”

“Yeah, all right,” Bridget called back. 

“Will we see you later, though?” Mary asked.

“Hope so. The letter mentioned patrolling the corridors, but then I think I'm free.” Lily grunted as another student squeezed past her. “I'll see you,” and with that, she disappeared.

The other two pushed on and occupied the first free compartment they came across. Not two minutes had passed when Alice found them, as she peeked into each compartment on her way down the corridor.

“Nice to see you again.” Alice beamed as she heaved her trunk onto the luggage rack. “Marlene's late, is she?”

Mary looked outside at the gathering crowd. “Naturally. At this point, it'd be a surprise if she actually showed up on time.”

Alice laughed and sat down with a sigh. “And Lily?”

“Prefect compartment,” Bridget said. “Instructions and things.”

“You've seen Frank?” Mary asked.

“Yeah, he's with some of his mates for now, but he said he'll come later.”

With that out of the way, they lapsed into chatter about a more exciting topic. Namely the Celestina Warbeck concert that Mary had gone to just three days ago (“She was absolutely wonderful! Completely amazing!”). But every now and again, they'd anxiously glance at the clock outside as each minute of Marlene's absence went by, half-heartedly joking about her having to chase down the train on a broom. She was really cutting it close. It was now 10:54, just six minutes until the Hogwarts Express would be setting off – and it did so each year, at exactly eleven o'clock, without fail.

_Finally_ (Bridget was sure Mary would have broken out in a cold sweat had it been one minute more), Marlene came rushing through the barrier, hassled and harried, and thrust her ticket into the conductor's hands.

“I cannot _believe_ how late you are!” Mary cried when Marlene found their compartment.

“What can I say? I had to make an entrance!” Marlene shrugged and pushed her luggage forward. “Be a dear and put that up. I've just sprinted half a mile.”

“What happened? What took you so long?” Alice asked as she and Mary lifted Marlene's things.

“Well,” Marlene said, collapsing onto a seat next to Bridget, “my alarm picked today of all days to lose its battery, and both my parents were already at work, so no one woke me up. It was a mess, a complete disaster! I barely brushed my teeth, didn't even _shower_! Instead I found this smelly old shirt on the floor, _and_ I couldn't find my wand for a good ten minutes – I had a heart attack, I swear, but I battled through it and ran out the door – hope I locked it, for Merlin's sake. I'm _starving_ though, I only managed to grab an apple on the way out.” She physically deflated into her seat when she finished, receiving pats on her shoulder and murmurs of sympathy from the others.

Then suddenly, she sat right back up as if struck by lightning and rounded on Mary, demanding to know how the concert had been (even though Mary had already sent her a point-by-point letter detailing the night). Mary retold it again, with Marlene rambling on about how incredible it all sounded and what a fantastic experience it must have been and how come _she_ never won anything over the radio? Her excitement reached an all-time high when Mary pulled out the shirts she'd bought for each of them after the concert. She put hers on at once, tossing away the dirty one she had been wearing, and showered Mary's cheeks with excessive kisses.

Things somewhat subdued after that, with talk taking a calmer tone as the train left London. They played a few rounds of Exploding Snap until the witch manning the food trolley came round, announcing her arrival from out in the corridor.

“Want me to go get you something?” Bridget asked as Marlene bounded out of their compartment.

With an order of Jelly Slugs for Mary, Pumpkin Pasties for Alice, and a few Galleons, Bridget stepped out into the corridor. The trolley lady was busy with several other students when Bridget approached Marlene. The other girl was bouncing in her place, anxiously itching her nose and growling under hear breath.

“If those first years don't move soon,” she hissed to Bridget, “I'll eat _them_ instead.”

“That hungry, are you?” Sirius' voice asked from behind them.

They turned to him, Bridget smiling and Marlene's eye twitching exaggeratedly, and made way for him to stand with them.

“I didn't have the time to eat this morning,” Marlene explained, keeping her eyes trained on the food trolley.

“Alarm clock died,” Bridget added to Sirius' curious squint. “Anyway, what're you getting?”

“Two boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and Fudge Flies for Peter. I've been sent to do the dirty work, you see.”

The students in front of them finally left, giving them an opening. It was all Marlene needed. She nearly jumped at the witch, grasping the trolley tightly and ordering a mountain of Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands and Chocolate Frogs, please.

“Theatrical,” Sirius snorted. (“Shut up,” Marlene snapped back.)

When she moved, already stomping back to their compartment to get a start on her new acquisition, Bridget took her turn and waited with Sirius until he had paid.

“Nice ring,” he said, moving to the side so others could get past them. “New?”

Bridget glanced down at her hand, at the ring her father had given her. She hadn't really worn jewellery before, but she'd taken to wearing the ring regularly, quite proud of the crest it bore.

“Uh, yes and no,” Bridget replied as he took her hand to have a closer look (his touch was pleasantly warm). “It's sort of a family heirloom, but I only just got it.”

“Right,” Sirius hummed as he scrutinised the crest. “Family loyalty and all that.”

Bridget faltered for a moment, her mind reeling back to her father's words on the day he had given her the ring – _l_ _oyalty to family is the most important thing._

“Um, right.” She chuckled nervously. “I mean, I love them, yeah? I'd like to, you know, show it.”

And that's all the ring was – love for her family. Not some pledge of support for their views or anything, despite what her father had been hinting at. Merlin, was that what Sirius was thinking?

“B-but it's just a ring,” she went on, trying to decipher the look on his face. (It wasn't of suspicion, was it?)

“Right.”

“Family tradition.”

“Mhm.”

“I-it doesn't mean anything.”

Sirius finally looked up from her hand, his expression one of slight confusion. “I know that, Bridge.”

Before she could put her foot any further into her mouth, someone roughly pushed past her, causing both her and Sirius to bump into the wall next to them. She recognised the retreating backs as those of Avery and Mulciber.

“Oi, watch it!” Sirius called after them, but they didn't bother to look back.

From the corner of her eye, Bridget saw Remus approach them, looking behind him at the two Slytherins. “What was that?”

“Wankers,” Sirius replied, glaring daggers in Avery and Mulciber's direction.

Remus huffed a laugh, but asked all the same, “Want me to go after them? I'm supposed to be supervising anyway.”

“No, don't give them the bloody satisfaction,” Sirius said.

Bridget took this moment to excuse herself and hurried back to her compartment. Upon returning, Alice and Mary assured her that they hadn't minded waiting (they'd been betting on how quickly Marlene could finish her Liquorice Wands) and accepted their sweets with thanks. Frank had appeared in the meantime, and was rather excited to retell them a story of how his friend Amos Diggory had had his ankles attacked by a Dugbog when he accidentally found himself in its marshy dwellings.

Bridget only gave him half of her attention, the other part of her mind occupied with a creeping uneasiness. She thought of how irrational she had just been about the ring, how there was no need to make excuses about it. It  _ didn't _ mean anything, not really.

“Can you imagine that?” Frank was laughing. “ _ Seven _ stitches on both feet. He says he nearly lost a toe!”

“You shouldn't be laughing. It's not funny.”

Yet Bridget had been intent on convincing Sirius of its lack of importance. To assure him that it wasn't a show of allegiance – to her family, maybe, but certainly not to their beliefs. 

“No, 'course it's not funny. But Amos thought it was a bit comical. Looking back on it, I mean.”

Maybe it was because she herself saw it as symbolic, saw it as taking a side.

“What was he doing in a marsh anyway? Aren't they really nasty?”

“I think you're thinking of a swamp.”

Maybe she hadn't been trying to convince him.

“Aren't those the same thing? Marsh and swamp?”

Maybe she had really been trying to convince herself.

“Bridget?”

She snapped out of it and looked to Alice.

“Sorry, what?”

“Is a swamp the same as a marsh?” Alice didn't seem to notice anything off about her.

Momentarily forgetting her dilemma, Bridget said, “Erm, I think swamps have trees, and marshes don't.”

That launched the debate over the two wetlands, which reached the point where Mary almost left to ask Amos Diggory where exactly it was that he swam and had there been any trees about. But it ended when Frank suggested they all simply agreed both swamps and marshes were wet, and leave it at that. Marlene decided she could live with this simple explanation, and then started a game of charades.

A few hours later, things had considerably simmered down and Frank was snoring. Lily had been in and out twice already, taking breaks between her prefect duties. She poked her head into the compartment now, weary but keeping cheerful. They'd be arriving soon, she said. Better put on their uniforms. 

Bridget looked at her best friend's smiling face. The ring on her finger suddenly felt very heavy.

 

* * *

 

Bridget would always remember her first night at Hogwarts clearly.

The gentle rocking of the boats as they glided across the lake; the awe inspired by the first view of the castle, with its countless windows, shining bright against the backdrop of the black night sky; the sheer vastness of its halls and the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice reverberating in greeting. If she closed her eyes, she could see the back of her fellow first-years' heads as they scurried after the Head of Gryffindor into the Great Hall, marvelling at its splendour.

Its ceiling was so high it looked as though it joined the heavens. Hundreds and hundreds of candles bobbed up and down unsuspended, as thick clouds, gathering above them, predicted wind and rain. Students at tables on either side stared at them and whispered to each other as they made their way through the hall.

And then, Professor McGonagall brought out a stool and everyone fell silent. She read through the long list in her hands and very soon called out, “Durant, Bridget.”

Heart hammering, palms sweating, the eleven-year-old felt a mix of dread and thrill. This was it. Her turn. Her _Sorting_. Whichever house she ended up in, somehow she knew it would define her forever. She'd join the one house she'd swear was the best, the one house whose name she'd scream at Quidditch matches, the one house that would always have a special place in her heart. In a way, she'd be joining a new family.

She walked the distance to Professor McGonagall (it had seemed so far and endless at the time), sat on the stool and caught one quick glimpse of her brother beaming at her, before the rim of an old hat blocked her vision.

_Ah, Bridget Durant. Mother a Ravenclaw, father and brother both Slytherins. But where to put_ you _?_

She had shrugged and the hat had chuckled.

_I think I know..._

And then she'd heard that same voice that had, just a minute ago, been whispering in her ear, call out for the entire room to hear:  _“Gryffindor!”_

The dark curtain was lifted and she could see the table on the far left erupting in cheers and applause. As she headed towards it, barely managing to keep the skip from her steps, she glanced back at her brother at the opposite end of the room. She gave him an apologetic smile, remembering his promises of telling her all of Slytherin's secrets once she was in. He returned it, though it hid a slight look of disappointment. Looking away, Bridget sat next to an older girl that patted her on the back affectionately, while a boy across her congratulated her on joining the greatest, most fantastic house.

Bridget would remember that night forever. Even now, sitting at the Gryffindor table, watching a line of eleven-year-olds get shorter and shorter, she wondered if they were feeling the same rush she had felt.

An unexpected weight burdened her shoulder as Lily rested her chin there. “Remember when that was us?” she whispered. “Makes me a bit sad, to tell you the truth.”

Bridget held her hand and nodded sympathetically. “Me too.”

“Hm, to be young and naive,” came from across the table, where Mary was looking wistfully at the first-years. “Not about to be crushed by the stress that awaits us.”

Marlene, who was sitting on Bridget's other side, leaned in with a melancholy expression. “I'm starving.” It caused several students sitting nearby to snort and try to hold in their laughter. “There's so many of them. Blimey, when are we going to _eat_?”

Soon enough, Bridget herself was thinking along the same lines. Her stomach even began making moaning protests – “Me too, old girl,” Marlene had comforted her – making her blush furiously and wrap her arms around her midriff in an attempt to muffle the sounds. To her relief and Marlene's immense joy, not two minutes after Beth Young had hopped off to Hufflepuff's table, Professor Dumbledore gave a few words of welcome (seven to be exact) and began dinner.


	7. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the ultra late update - I know I said chapters would be posted more frequently, but as you are probably aware by now, I'm lazy and a liar. So, I won't be making any new promises regarding updates, especially as I'm starting uni next month and all my time will be focused on that :/ But I'm determined to finish this fic - hopefully before I graduate from university at this rate.

Bridget always slept like a starfish. She'd wake up every morning, arms and legs splayed haphazardly all over the bed, sometimes even hanging over the edge. Her head was usually buried under the pillow in an attempt to hide from the morning rays, so when she got up, her hair would be tousled and she'd have sleep lines criss-crossing all over her cheeks. She'd look a downright mess.

It was to the shrill ringing of their shared alarm clock that she woke up – a horribly all-too-familiar sound that announced the beginning of a school day.

She wasn't the first one up; the sound of running water from the washroom and Lily's empty bed told her that the prefect was already awake and getting dressed. Bridget looked at the other three. Alice was rubbing her eyes and smoothing down her hair, while Mary groaned and rolled over to switch off the alarm. Marlene merely grunted from underneath the arm that was covering her face.

“Just leave me here,” she said. “I'm not ready for this. I'll go another time.”

Once the three of them dragged Marlene out of bed (two holding her wrists, the last grabbing her ankles) and each girl got ready, they went off to the Great Hall for breakfast. Between pumpkin juice, sausage links and fried eggs, they discussed the different classes that might be set for the day. Their answer arrived when Professor McGonagall made her way down the table, handing out their schedules. The students' responses varied; some groaned at the very sight of the listed subjects, while others shrugged with choruses of, “Well, it could be worse.”

Mary shared the first sentiment.

“Potions first?” she whined, eyeing her timetable with distaste.

Lily shared the second.

“That's not too bad,” she said.

“Easy for you to say,” Marlene said with a snort. “ _You're_ good at it.”

“I suppose so.” Lily agreed. “Not looking forward to Double Ancient Runes tomorrow though.”

“Yeah. We'll probably get loads of homework for that,” Alice sighed. “Always do.”

“I told you you were mad for taking it,” Marlene said. “Frank too. Not to mention he takes Arithmancy to boot. I'd rather jump off a cliff.”

Bridget herself was rather happy with the subjects of the day. Potions wasn't all bad – although, it could get frustrating, especially when the instructions were ridiculous, demanding that the measurements be correct to the nearest grain of powder and added in by seven counter-clockwise stirs, while keeping your left eye shut and pinching your nose. Herbology, however, was one of her favourites, as natural studies came easily to her. Defence Against the Dark Arts and Astronomy were both rather tricky and not really her areas of interest, but she managed them well enough. The only thing that bothered her about the schedule was Divination, a class she could never get the hang of. The ruddy subject was illogical and difficult to master if one didn't have 'the gift', often leaving her upset and exasperated in the end.

The bell chimed throughout the castle, and the five girls started for the dungeons, where their first lesson of the school year awaited. On their way down, they passed a group of younger Slytherins, among which Bridget recognised Regulus. She caught his eye and smiled, but didn't receive any kind of acknowledgement from the younger Black brother.

Meanwhile, students were already entering the Potions classroom, claiming seats and taking out their kits and supplies. The young witches sat as they usually did, clustered around tables close enough so they could talk and pass notes. The seat that was left empty next to Lily was soon filled by Severus Snape, as it was at every Potions lesson since their first year (much to the other girls' displeasure – Snape wasn't exactly the friendliest of people).

As students settled down, Professor Slughorn strode in with a cheery, “Hello, all,” and made his way to the blackboard. Of the last few people coming in, Frank squeezed into a seat next to Alice, and Bridget spotted Sirius and James making their way to where Remus and Peter were already sitting.

“Hope you've all had splendid holidays,” Slughorn said once everyone was ready, “because you've quite the year ahead of you. I remember my own O.W.L.s – not a pleasant time, I'm afraid to tell you. But not to worry, many a wizard – and witch, pardon me – have passed it, and I can assure you, an O from Potions is absolutely achievable. Provided that you're ready to work for it, of course.” He clapped his hands and smiled. “Now, let's get to work, shall we?” Missing (or perhaps ignoring) the quiet moan from the class, he turned to the blackboard and waved his wand.

“The Draught of Peace!” The words appeared on the board. “A rather complex potion – admittedly not the first thing one might wish to learn at the very start of a new school year. But my reasoning is simple: if you have a go at a difficult potion now and manage to finish it, you will gain the courage to face the rest of the year. And to help you along, I've decided to pair you up.” This incited murmuring as students turned to one another, already forming groups. “Ah ah ah! _I_ will be pairing you up!” Now the groan that broke out was too loud for him to miss even if he wished it.

Protesting was of no use though. After four years of teaching them, Slughorn was familiar with the working habits of each student. He knew who worked well together (like Lily and Snape) and who didn't (like James and Sirius).

Professor Slughorn went about the class, pointing at one person and matching them up with another. Bridget was pleasantly surprised when Sirius was sent off to her table, with a request to, “Keep it a calm lesson, eh, Black?”

Sirius sauntered over and took Alice's place as she was moved elsewhere. “Nice to be with a mate,” he said, aiming a grin at Bridget.

“The recipe is on page fifty-eight of your books,” Slughorn was saying. “I will remind you again, as I have countless times over the years: read the directions _carefully_. These ones are particularly detailed and must be followed to the letter. Otherwise there could be serious repercussions.”

“Wonderful,” Bridget muttered. Sirius shot her an amused glance.

“Most notably,” Slughorn went on, “the potion could cause a deep, perhaps even irreversible sleep if too much of the ingredients are added.” He finished sorting out the pairs and returned to the front of the classroom. “All right, you have until the end of the lesson. Good luck!”

Bridget and Sirius got to work, she cracking open her book, and he preparing the cauldron and starting the fire. Bridget read out the ingredients they'd need (“Powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore, powdered porcupine quills, and powdered unicorn horn.”), with Sirius simultaneously placing them out on the desk, while they discussed the cruelty of teachers.

“Honestly, name one time we had a relaxed day to ease us back into school life,” Sirius said.

“I suppose it's because we've just had two months off,” Bridget replied, taking a mortar and pestle. “We'll have to grind the porcupine quills.”

Sirius handed her the bottle containing said quills. “Still, they can't expect us to jump right back into it, can they?”

Bridget laughed and got to pressing the pestle into the mortar. “So I passed Regulus in the hall earlier. He didn't say much. Didn't say anything at all actually. I think he's pretending he doesn't know me.”

“Ignore him, he's being a prat,” Sirius said. “Been like that the whole summer. I barely spoke two words with him.” A pause. Bridget gave him a moment to decide whether he wanted to continue the conversation or not. He went on in a lower voice, “Honestly, I blame my parents and his Slytherin mates – the whole bloody house, really. He's become immersed in their elitist rubbish. I thought – well, I _hoped_ – he'd fight it. I did, for Merlin's sake. I tried talking to him about it a few times, but he doesn't want to hear it.” He gave an irritated groan and shook his head.

Bridget tried to cheer him up. “Nothing's set in stone. He might realise his mistakes when he's older.” When Sirius didn't say anything, she cleared her throat and said in a lighter tone, “Anyways. What d'you reckon about this O.W.L. business? Think you can get an O for Potions?”

Sirius snorted, but threw her a grateful glance anyway. “Pretty confident about it, yeah. Why? D'you doubt me?”

The class went by rather pleasantly after that, if only with one near-calamity. The potion was so incredibly complicated that Bridget had mixed up two steps and was about to add the syrup of hellebore before the powdered moonstone. Luckily, Sirius intervened and grabbed her hand before she could add the wrong ingredient.

“We have to allow the potion to simmer for seven minutes before putting in the hellebore,” he warned, pulling her hand away from the cauldron.

It was a short gesture, over before Bridget could properly register it happening. But even after Sirius drew away, warmth lingered on the back of her hand, where his skin had touched hers – a tingling sort of sensation, seeping into her fingertips.

Scowling at the way her face heated up – because, really, this wasn't the first time they'd brushed hands – she nodded and said a brief, “Er, right.”

Other than that, the potion-brewing was successful. They finished a full fifteen minutes after Lily, but seeing as she was one of the best at Potions, they figured they did all right. Their Draught of Peace was even emitting a silvery vapour – faint, but there – unlike some of the other students' samples. A positive start to fifth year, they agreed.

These high spirits were soon quashed by the ten-inch essay Slughorn assigned for next lesson.

Unfortunately, the piles of homework didn't stop at Potions. Neither did the talk of O.W.L.s. Each teacher they had throughout the day made a point of mentioning their upcoming exams, constantly stressing on their importance. Bridget hated these never-ending reminders; they made her heart sink lower and lower into her gut with dread and anxiety. So much so that she sought comfort from her mother that evening.

After they'd done some of their homework (barely managing to make a dent in the literal mountain of it) and once they'd finished dinner, Bridget settled with her friends in the Gryffindor common room. She sat by the fire, idly listening to the conversation around her as she wrote a letter on top of the Astronomy textbook balanced in her lap.

“What use is it knowing the names and characteristics of Jupiter's moons anyhow?” Marlene was asking, flicking Bridget's book peevishly. They'd just had double Astronomy, and Marlene hadn't enjoyed it in the least. “Honestly, I can't think of a single instance where that'd be useful information.”

“Maybe not to you,” Alice said from her place on the sofa, her head thrown over the armrest and her feet in Frank's lap. “But to someone who wants to continue Astronomy it might be important.”

Bridget half-listened to Marlene argue with this logic, focusing instead on jotting down the day's events and teachers' cautionary advice on the roll of parchment. She wished she had the wits of Ravenclaw like her mother did. Perhaps then the idea of life-changing tests, effectively deciding your future with only a single letter, wouldn't be as frightening to her.

“Marlene's right,” Mary said. “Teach basics until O.W.L.s and then get into the details at N.E.W.T. level.”

“Hate to tell you this,” Lily said with an apologetic laugh. “But I don't think you can get any more basic than the names of things.”

Cue witty response from Marlene, a well thought-out counterargument from Alice, and Frank backing her up by claiming that they just didn't want to study anything at all, did they? At that point, Mary became indignant and Bridget left for the Owlery, her friends' quips and teases chiming behind her as she climbed through the Portrait Hole.

 

* * *

 

Her mother's response arrived the very next day during breakfast. Among the morning's flock of owls, soaring round the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, was Bridget's own feathered postman, Archibald. He swooped down, executing a smooth landing (with a little help from Remus, who moved his goblet of orange juice away before the owl could hit it head-on) and proudly fluffed his feathers at the achievement. He stuck his claw out and presented the attached letter, patiently awaiting his reward. After receiving his payment of three bits of buttered toast, Archibald gave two hoots and took off.

Conversation resumed and Bridget unfurled her letter. Just the sight of her mother's smooth cursive was enough to lift her mood; neat and flowing, without even the tiniest smudge (a feat Bridget herself had yet to master).

She read through her mother's assurances, the words reflecting her calm, temperate nature. Mrs Durant promised to always be proud of her – yes, even if she failed _every single one_ of her O.W.L. exams – and to allow her to live at home until she was old and grey if she so wished. She mentioned they'd been to visit Toby. Her brother looked paler, she said, and even more fragile than the last time they'd seen him. Bridget tried not to dwell on this too much, knowing that it would depress her the whole day if she did. Rather she moved on to her mother's recounting of a Jarvey outbreak that first overtook the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and had quickly engulfed the entire Ministry of Magic. Apparently, her father had spent the past three days being verbally harassed by an over-sized talking ferret hiding somewhere in his office, driving him to the brink of insanity.

“You finished, Bridget?” Lily asked, drawing her attention back to the present. “We should be getting on to Transfiguration.”

“'Course, yeah.” Bridget stood and followed the rest of them out of the Great Hall.

When the students filed into the Transfiguration classroom, they knew very well what to expect. They were hardly surprised when Professor McGonagall, waiting for them in front of her desk, tall and stern, launched into an O.W.L.-related lecture by way of greeting (although, it all sounded ten times more important and intimidating when it came from her mouth – her no-nonsense demeanour tended to have that effect). She was no more merciful than the teachers from the previous day, setting them immediately to work with turning dinner plates into mushrooms.

Several students struggled with this, Bridget herself included. The best she had managed to do for the whole lesson was make a porcelain stalk grow from the bottom of her plate. At least the end result somewhat resembled a mushroom, she comforted herself, albeit with a plate in the place of its cap. Professor McGonagall, however, didn't agree and instructed them all to practice the spell for homework. Bridget was considerably cheered up when the bell dismissed them and signalled the shift to their next class – Care of Magical Creatures.

It had been Bridget's favourite class since their first week of third year, when she had chosen it as one of her electives. Her father had been sceptical of her choices (“Care of Magical Creatures and Divination?” he had said with a dubious squint. “They're not exactly useful subjects unless you decide to pursue them, Bridget.”), but neither Arithmancy nor the Study of Ancient Runes were the least bit interesting to her – she hadn't even considered Muggle Studies – and _they_ weren't of much use in the long run either. She had said as much to her father.

“Yes, but they're the more serious of the lot,” he had replied. “Don't you think your two are a bit... well, frivolous?” Bridget's face had fallen, and her mother, never one to force anything onto her daughter, drew herself up to her full height. “It's her education, Bart,” she had said, “so she can choose whatever she pleases.” Mr Durant had muttered something about them always uniting against him, but the conversation, in effect, had ended.

As the students trudged across the school grounds, past the greenhouses where a group of second years were clutching their ears in agony while Professor Sprout proudly held up a Mandrake, Bridget delighted in choosing to study Care of Magical Creatures. She was the only one of her friends to truly enjoy it, as they often found it too tiresome and pointless to bother with. But to her, it never seemed like hard work.

She loved the sunlit classes outdoors, sitting in the grass with an animal in front of her, even if it was trying to bite off her hand (to be perfectly honest, those were some of her favourites as they kept the class lively). She found it fascinating to learn the characteristics of different creatures, their distinctive temperaments and habits, whether they only came out during a full moon to perform a few complicated dance moves or shot fire out of their rear ends.

But there was one more considerable perk to the lessons, and that perk was Silvanus Kettleburn.

Professor Kettleburn was a jovial man, enthusiastic to the extreme about creatures of all shapes and sizes, and adamant about constantly being surrounded by them – no matter how 'dangerous' they might have been. Such endeavours had left him with only one arm and a mere half of one leg over the years, leading to his being considered reckless by many in the school. His zeal as a teacher was notorious, earning him a record-setting forty-seven (and counting) probations thus far.

Kettleburn was Bridget's idol.

Nowadays though, he had greatly mellowed, most likely because of the fact that he had so few limbs left.

“Ah, there you are!” came the very man's booming voice. He stood inside a small pen, the fence of which seemed to have been made of large branches thrown together precariously. “Good seeing you all again. Come closer, come closer!” He was standing between two small creatures with large snouts and shaggy hair, both standing upright on two legs. “Now don't be ridiculous! Come here! Don't worry, they don't bite.” This wasn't exactly the most reassuring of promises, as the last time he'd said that about a few Nifflers, they ended up attacking whoever was wearing any jewellery.

Still, the students inched forwards, stopping a few paces before the fence. Lily, in what she thought was a subtle manner, pulled Bridget in front of her, murmuring an excuse of, “You don't mind being bitten, yeah?” Bridget grinned at her and turned back to Kettleburn.

“Well, I've been hearing a lot of jabber about your O.W.L.s from the other teachers,” he began, much to the displeasure of the students. “How crucial they are and all that bilge.” This was a new approach – none of their previous teachers had called the exams 'bilge'. “Professor Dumbledore regularly reminds me to take fifth year classes especially seriously. As if I don't take all my other ones so.” He shook his head as if asking whether they could believe such a thing.

“These exams – these O.W.L.s – they're just pieces of paper,” he went on. “They can show you a trifling grade, but they can't show you what a student's made of! And this – this class – it isn't about what letter you get at the end. It's about the love for the animals, is what it is.” He patted the head of one of the creatures at his side for emphasis. “So I won't be pushing anybody any more than I usually do, and we'll simply continue in the same way we always have.” He ended with a bright smile, looking round at the students, each relieved at what they were hearing about the O.W.L.s for a change.

“Right, then.” He clapped his hands loudly, jerking them out of their reverie. “Anyone have any idea what these lovely beasties are?”

What they turned out to be were Porlocks; creatures native to England and Southern Ireland, which could be found huddled in between herds of horses that they protected.

“Borrowed these two from a friend of mine,” Kettleburn said. “Nice big horse ranch he's got. Anyway, Porlocks don't like humans much, and usually hide when they see one. I've picked out the friendliest of his lot, but avoid any sudden movements all the same. Now see, look at their hands!”

He carefully took hold of one Porlock's wrist and held it out for them all to observe. At the end of the small arm were four stubby fingers that the Porlock wriggled, shyly trying to pull back from all the attention it was getting.

“Wee little fingers,” Kettleburn said affectionately. “You wouldn't know it just by looking at them, but these tiny devils will clamp onto you and won't let go until their master comes. Handy when catching intruders – oh, delightful pun.”

The rest of the lesson was spent learning about proper feeding (“Nothing easier, just give them a bit of grass!”) and caring for the Porlocks, as well as a short time sketching their features in order to remember them better.

By the end of the week, they all got used to the school-time routine once more. They were ready each morning to face another eight-hour day of classes, and even the piles of homework – though still an unpleasant occurrence – were no longer as great a shock as they were when the students had just come from two months of idleness and leisure.

Still, Bridget was grateful for the arrival of the weekend, which gave them a chance to slow down a little and breathe.

It was bright and early on Saturday morning that Bridget found herself accompanied to the Quidditch pitch by Lily and Marlene, who, in turn, were headed to the grounds to bask in sunshine.

“James forcing you to try out this year?” Marlene asked in surprise, nodding to Bridget's uniform.

“No, I won't even be flying today,” Bridget said. “It's not a proper practice, just watching the tryouts, really – but James wants us all to be there in full gear. You know how he is, likes to keep things professional.”

“He has an unhealthy obsession with that sport,” Lily said as the three rounded a corner.

As they did so, another student nearly bumped into them and was about to argue, when his mouth suddenly snapped shut. His face turned an impressive shade of red, his eyes flickering from Marlene to the floor, as he awkwardly excused himself and hurried past them.

“Marvin Plaskitt?” Lily asked, watching him scurry away as fast as his legs could manage. “You've spoken to him about the Love Potion, then?”

“Not so much spoke to him as aimed a jinx at his arse,” Marlene said nonchalantly, inciting a snort and a congratulatory pat on the arm from Lily and Bridget respectively.

They reached the archway that led to the outdoors then, and went their separate ways, Bridget promising to find them again once the tryouts were over. She followed the winding dirt path to the pitch, the grating of stones beneath her steps the only sound in the damp, hushed morning. The atmosphere of the stadium was livelier than that of the windswept grounds, with the tryouts just getting started and the prospective players chatting in a mix of nerves and hope.

James noticed her approaching and gave a short wave, directing her to the stands where two teammates already sat. One was Sirius, lounging with his feet on the seat below him and his back against the one behind, and the other was Gwen Randall, the Gryffindor Seeker.

“I haven't missed anything, have I?” Bridget asked when the two greeted her.

“James is just getting them into groups according to what they're trying out for,” Gwen said.

“Shouldn’t take long, this practice,” Sirius said. “Seeing as we're only looking for one Beater and a Keeper.”

Patting the seat next to her, Gwen said to Bridget, “You're a Wasps supporter, right?”

“Oh, no. Are we discussing best Quidditch teams?” Bridget guessed with a cautious smile. “It's a dangerous topic, you know. Ruins friendships.”

“We've been keeping it civil,” Sirius assured her. “After all, we're mature. We can discuss sports without lunging at each other's necks.”

Bridget shot him a sarcastically doubtful look. “Last time we had this discussion, we didn't speak for a week. We made a pact, Sirius: never again!”

“I promise I won't breathe a _word_ about the Arrows,” Sirius said.

Bridget's eye instinctively twitched at the mention of the Wimbourne Wasps' mortal enemies. For centuries, the two teams had been in a relentless struggle for the upper hand, which had at this point become ancient tradition. It had been during a game between the two that one of the Wimbourne Beaters, not about to suffer defeat to those pesky Northerners, whacked a wasps' nest at the Arrows' Seeker, hitting him right in the forehead in what was later called “the poorest show of sportsmanship of the 17th century.” Nevertheless, the incident was the stuff of legend, simultaneously giving the Wasps their emblem and starting the greatest rivalry in Quidditch history.

“Nothing about them currently being higher up in the standings?” Bridget clarified in a tight voice (it hurt just to say it).

“Not a peep.” Sirius even held his right hand over his heart.

Keeping things civil, it turned out, was not as difficult as expected. They talked about the recent matches they'd watched; about Chasers' swift twists and turns, Beaters' most underhanded employments of Bludgers, said Bludgers' roughest, grisliest doings, and Keepers' tragic shortcomings and roar-inducing saves.

By the time the Keeper tryouts began, the three were discussing the Chudley Cannons' last-place position in the league (Bridget honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry over their pitiful performance so far).

“They've changed their motto recently, haven't they?” Gwen said. “What was it? _'_ _We shall conquer_ _'_ to _'_ _Let's all just keep our fingers crossed'_ –”

“– _'_ _and hope for the best!'_ ” Bridget said, with Sirius' voice overlapping hers.

They fell into such loud bursts of snorts and cackles that James looked up from the pitch and shouted, “Oi! Holding a tryout down here! You mind?”

Still recovering their breaths, the two Chasers and the Seeker waved apologetically and called out small 'sorry's. Then they settled into a comfortable silence, broken only by short chuckles as each shook their head, thinking, “Ah, _Cannons_.”

“By the way,” Sirius began after a few moments, his tone calmer. “D'you read the _Prophet_ yesterday?”

“The Bats versus Magpies review? Yeah, the match sounded brilliant,” Bridget said.

“Not that. Page three?” Sirius prompted, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

Bridget's face fell. She remembered Lily pointing out the article to her at breakfast: a report of an Aurors' ambush on a group of Death Eaters that had ultimately failed. The Auror Office had discovered the time and place of a secret meeting of You-Know-Who's supporters, but when Aurors arrived at the scene, it had been empty. As if the Death Eaters had known an attack was coming and evacuated.

The _Prophet_ , of course, had interpreted this in a positive light. They claimed the Death Eaters had fled because they feared a fight – because they feared the Ministry.

“Yeah, seemed pretty dodgy,” Bridget said with a grimace. “Can't trust the _Prophet_ much these days.”

“What d'you mean?” Gwen asked, stricken. “The article said the Death Eaters took off. Isn't that a good thing?”

“Well, that's the point. The _Prophet_ merely skimmed over the fact that the Death Eaters had left. It didn't explain how they'd known to do so,” Bridget said. “But it must've been because they knew Aurors were coming.”

“You know what I reckon?” Sirius said. “They have an informer in the Ministry.”

“Don't be stupid!” Gwen snapped, clearly unnerved by the idea.

“Why not? They've got spies everywhere,” Sirius pointed out. “Wouldn't be hard to pull off.”

“It's possible,” Bridget agreed. “They said it was supposed to be a covert mission – the Auror Office only disclosed it once it had fallen through. No one should have known about it earlier.”

“Think about it,” Sirius said to Gwen. “It's the fourth ambush that's failed – someone's keeping the Death Eaters informed so they know when to vanish in time.”

“How do you know that?” Gwen asked. “How can you be so sure they knew about the ambush beforehand?”

“What other explanation is there?” Bridget asked her gently.

“The Aurors' information might have been wrong!” Gwen said.

“ _Four_ times?” Sirius asked sceptically. “If that's the case, then they're pretty rubbish at their job.”

Gwen shook her head, refusing to listen to them. “Sorry, but I just don't believe it. You two are off your rockers. The Ministry's got everything under control.”

Bridget understood why Gwen was so determined to argue. The enemy creeping into their government? Into the system that was meant to protect them? 'Scary' would be an understatement. Bridget herself sometimes wanted to shut her eyes and ignore what was going on, wanted to believe that no threat was coming. But she knew well enough from the pure-blood dinners – where they whispered and smirked, praising “the Dark Lord and his army” – she knew that it _was_ coming.

Denying the problem wouldn't make it go away.

“Listen, it wouldn't be the first time the Ministry was controlling the _Prophet_ ,” Sirius said. “Last Thursday, two Aurors were sent to St. Mungo's after being cornered by a few Death Eaters. And did you know that they've tried to kill the Head of the Auror Office three times already? The _Prophet_ doesn't report any of it because the Ministry wants it to look like everything's in order. But it's not, Voldemort's – _ow_ , bloody hell, what's wrong with you two?” Bridget and Gwen had both hit him – Bridget punching him in the arm, and Gwen landing a hard push in his side. “All right, _You-Know-Who_ , is that better? He's gaining more supporters all the time, and the Ministry's got to make a harder effort in countering that.”

“And how do you suggest they do that?” Gwen demanded.

“Well,” Bridget spoke up, recalling what her father had discussed with her about the situation. “There are rumours that You-Know-Who's got the giants on his side. And it's only a matter of time before it's publicly acknowledged that the werewolves are with him too. He's getting the groups that wizards have oppressed for years – the groups that are looking for a change of power so they're treated better. Maybe the Ministry can start by fixing that.”

Gwen sighed, running a hand across her face. She was quiet for a moment, until she saw a figure approaching them. “Look, Lance is coming up with the new Beater.”

Lance Morcott, the remaining Beater from the previous year, was heading up to join them after spending the tryouts on the pitch with James, helping in the recruitment of his new partner.

“Let's just brighten up and meet him,” Gwen said.

Bridget and Sirius exchanged a glance as Gwen got up to greet their new teammate. It was exactly that attitude that was the problem with the Wizarding community: “Let's just smile and pretend nothing's happening.”


End file.
